GIFT 

C/-i*s  c^  f 

or 
?07 

I    S 


->  / 


Throughout  the  forenoon  Webster  and  Dolores,  from  the  deck 
of  the  steamer,  watched  the  city 


WEBSTER 

—MAN'S  MAN 


BY 
PETER  B.  KYNE 

Author  of 

"Cappy  Ricks,"  "The  Three 
Godfathers,"  Etc. 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 

DEAN  CORNWELL 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DGUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1017 


Copyright,  1917,  by 
PETER  B.  KYNE 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 


COPYSIGHT,  I9t6,  r>17,  BY  THl.  II  M>  BOOK  CORPORATION 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Throughout  the  forenoon  Webster  and  Dolores, 
from  the  deck  of  the  steamer,  watched  the 
city Frontispiece 


FACING  PAGE 


As  she  passed,  John  Stuart  Webster  looked 
fairly  into  her  face,  started  as  if  bee-stung, 
and  hastily  lifted  his  hat 64 

"  Mr.  William  H.  Geary,"  the  girl  remarked 
that  night,  "I  know  now  why  your  friend 

,  Mr.  Webster  sent  that  cablegram.  I  think 
you're  a  scout,  too  " 112 

Webster  planted  a  bullet  in  Benavides's  ab 
domen  with  his  first  shot,  and  blew  out  the 
duelist's  brains  with  his  second  336 


370021 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 


Webster — Man's  Man 


CHAPTER   ONE 

WHEN  John  Stuart  Webster,  mining  engineer 
and  kicker-iip-of-dust  on  distant  trails, 
flagged  the  S.  P.,  L.  A.  &  S.  L.  Limited  at  a 
blistered  board  station  in  Death  Valley,  California, 
he  had  definitely  resolved  to  do  certain  things.  To 
begin,  he  would  invade  the  dining  car  at  the  first  call 
to  dinner  and  order  approximately  twenty  dollars' 
worth  of  ham  and  eggs,  which  provender  is,  as  all 
who  know  will  certify,  the  pinnacle  of  epicurean 
delight  to  an  old  sour-dough  coming  out  of  the  wilder 
ness  with  a  healthy  bankroll  and  a  healthier  appetite; 
for  even  as  the  hydrophobic  dog  avoids  water,  so  does 
the  adventurer  of  the  Webster  type  avoid  the  weird 
concoctions  of  high-priced  French  chefs  until  he  has 
first  satisfied  that  void  which  yawns  to  receive  ham 
and  eggs. 

Following  the  ham  and  eggs,  Mr.  Webster  planned 
to  saturate  himself  from  soul  to  vermiform  appendix 
with  nicotine,  which  he  purposed  obtaining  from  to 
bacco  with  nicotine  in  it.  It  was  a  week  since  he  had 
smoked  anything,  and  months  since  he  had  tasted 
Anything  with  an  odour  even  remotely  like  tobacco, 


4  WE  ESTER— MAN'S  MAN 

for  the  August  temperature  in  Death  Valley  is  no 
respecter  of  moisture  in  any  man  or  his  tobacco. 
By  reason  of  the  fact  that  he  had  not  always  dwelt 
in  Death  Valley,  however,  John  Stuart  Webster 
knew  the  dining-car  steward  would  have  in  the  ice 
chest  some  wonderful  cigars,  wonderfully  preserved. 

Webster  realized  that,  having  sampled  civilization 
thus  far,  his  debauch  would  be  at  an  end  until  he 
reached  Salt  Lake  City — unless,  indeed,  he  should 
find  aboard  the  train  something  fit  to  read  or  some 
body  worth  talking  to.  Upon  arrival  in  Salt  Lake 
City,  however,  his  spree  would  really  begin.  Im 
mediately  upon  leaving  the  train  he  would  proceed 
to  a  clothing  shop  and  purchase  a  twenty-five-dollar 
ready-to-wear  suit,  together  with  the  appurtenances 
thereunto  pertaining  or  in  any  wise  belonging.  These 
habiliments  he  would  wear  just  long  enough  to  shop 
in  respectably  and  without  attracting  the  attention 
of  the  passing  throng;  and  when  later  his  "tailor- 
mades"  and  sundry  other  finery  should  be  delivered, 
he  would  send  the  store  clothes  to  one  Ubehebe 
Henry,  a  prospector  down  in  the  Mojave  country, 
who  would  appreciate  them  and  wear  them  when  he 
came  to  town  in  the  fall  to  get  drunk. 

Having  arranged  for  the  delivery  of  his  temporary 
attire  at  the  best  hotel  in  town,  Webster  designed 
chartering  a  taxicab  and  proceeding  forthwith  to  that 
hotel,  where  he  would  engage  a  sunny  room  with  a 
bath,  fill  the  bathtub,  climb  blithely  in  and  soak  for 
two  hours  at  least,  for  it  was  nearly  eight  months 
since  he  had  had  a  regular  bath  and  he  purposed 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  5 

making  the  most  of  his  opportunity.  His  long- 
drawn  ablutions  at  length  over,  he  would  don  a  silken 
dressing  gown  and  slippers,  order  up  a  barber,  and 
proceed  to  part  with  enough  hair  and  whiskers  to 
upholster  an  automobile;  and  upon  the  completion 
of  his  tonsorial  adventures  he  would  encase  his  person 
in  a  suit  of  mauve-coloured  silk  pajamas,  climb  into 
bed  and  stay  there  for  forty-eight  hours,  merely  waking 
long  enough  to  take  another  bath,  order  up  periodical 
consignments  of  ham  and  eggs  and,  incidentally, 
make  certain  that  a  friendly  side-winder  or  chuck- 
walla  hadn't  crawled  under  the  blankets  with  him. 

So  much  for  John  Stuart  Webster's  plans.  Now 
for  the  gentleman  himself.  No  one — not  even  the 
Pullman  porter,  shrewd  judge  of  mankind  that  he 
was — could  have  discerned  in  the  chrysalis  that 
flagged  the  Limited  the  butterfly  of  fashion  that  was 
to  be.  As  the  ebony  George  raised  the  vestibule 
platform,  opened  the  car  door  and  looked  out,  he 
had  no  confidence  in  the  lean,  sun-baked  big  man 
standing  by  the  train.  Plainly  the  fellow  was  not  a 
first-class  passenger  but  a  wandering  prospector,  for 
he  was  dog-dirty,  a  ruin  of  rags  and  hairy  as  a  taran 
tula.  The  only  clean  thing  about  him  was  a  heavy- 
calibred  automatic  pistol  of  the  army  type,  swinging 
at  his  hip. 

"Day  coach  an'  tourist  up  in  front,"  the  knight  of 
the  whiskbroom  announced  in  disapproving  tones 
and  started  to  close  down  the  platform. 

"So  I  perceived,"  John  Stuart  Webster  replied 
blandly.  "I  also  observed  that  you  failed  to  employ 


0  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

the  title  sir  when  addressing  a  white  man.  Put 
that  platform  back  and  hop  out  here  with  your  little 
stool,  you  saddle-coloured  son  of  Senegambia,  or  I'll 
make  you  a  hard  porter  to  catch." 

"Yassah,  yassah!"  the  porter  sputtered,  and 
obeyed  instantly.  Mr.  Webster  handed  him  a 
disreputable-looking  suitcase  and  stepped  aboard  in 
state,  only  to  be  informed  by  the  sleeping-car  con 
ductor  that  there  wasn't  a  vacant  first-class  berth  on 
the  train. 

"Yes,  I  know  I'm  dirty,"  the  late  arrival  an 
nounced  cheerfully,  "but  still,  as  Cobby  Burns  once 
remarked,  *a  man's  a  man  for  a'  that' — and  I'm  no/ 
unsanitary.  I  sloshed  around  some  in  Furnace 
Creek  the  night  before  last,  and  while  of  course  I  got 
the  top  layer  off,  still,  a  fellow  can't  accomplish  a 
great  deal  without  hot  water,  soap,  a  good  scrub 
bing-brush  and  a  can  of  lye." 

"I'm  very  sorry,"  the  conductor  replied  per 
functorily  and  endeavoured  to  pass  on,  but  Webster 
secured  a  firm  grip  on  his  lapel  and  frustrated  the 
escape. 

"You're  not  sorry,"  the  ragged  wanderer  declared, 
k'not  one  little  bit.  You're  only  apprehensive. 
However,  you  needn't  be.  There  is  no  wild  life  on 
me,  brother,  I  assure  you.  If  you  can  prove  it,  I'll 
give  you  a  thousand-dollar  bill  for  each  and  every  bit 
of  testimony  you  can  adduce." 

"But  I  tell  you,  the  train  is  full  up.  You'll  have 
to  roost  in  the  daycoach  or  the  tourist.  I'm  very 
sorry " 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  7 

"So  am  I,  for  I  know  what  daycoaches  and  tourist- 
cars  smell  like  in  the  middle  of  August,  because,  as 
the  poet  says,  'I've  been  there  many  a  time  and  oft.' 
Nevertheless,  despite  your  deep  grief,  something  tells 
me  you're  spoofing,  so  while  I  must,  of  necessity, 
accept  your  suggestion,  said  acceptance  will  be  but 
temporary.  In  about  two  hours,  young  fellow, 
you're  going  to  make  the  alarming  discovery  that 
you  have  bats  in  your  belfry."  And  with  a  whiskery 
grin  which,  under  the  circumstances,  was  charming 
in  its  absolute  freedom  from  malice,  Mr.  Webster 
departed  for  the  daycoach. 

Two  hours  later  the  conductor  found  him  in 
the  aforementioned  daycoach,  engaged  in  a  mild 
game  of  poker  with  a  mule-skinner,  a  Chinaman, 
an  aged  prospector,  and  a  half-breed  Indian,  and 
waited  until  Mr.  Webster,  on  a  bob-tailed  club  flush, 
bluffed  the  Chinaman  out  of  a  dollar-and-a-half  pot. 

"Maud,  Lily,  and  Kate!"  Webster  murmured,  as 
the  Celestial  laid  down  three  queens  and  watched 
his  ragged  opponent  rake  in  the  pot.  "Had  I  held 
those  three  queens  and  had  you  made  a  two-card 
draw  as  I  did,  only  death  could  have  stopped  me  from 
seeing  what  you  held!  Hello!  Here's  Little  Boy 
Blue  again.  All  right,  son.  Blow  your  horn." 

"Are  you  Mr.  John  S.  Webster?" 

"Your  assumption  that  I  am  that  person  is  so 
eminently  correct  that  it  would  be  a  waste  of  time 
for  me  to  dispute  it,"  Webster  replied  quizzically. 
"However,  just  to  prove  that  you're  not  the  only 
clairvoyant  on  this  train,  I'm  going  to  tell  you  some- 


8  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

thing  about  yourself.  In  your  pocket  you  have  a 
telegram;  it  is  from  Chicago,  where  your  pay-check 
originates;  it  is  a  short,  sweet,  and  comprehensive, 
containing  an  order  which  you  are  going  to  obey.  It 
reads  somewhat  as  follows : 

"'My  friend,  John  S.  Webster,  wires  me  from 
Blank  that  he  boarded  train  at  Blank  and  was  refused 
first-class  accommodation  because  he  looked  like  a 
hobo.  Give  him  the  best  you  have  in  stock,  if  you 
have  to  throw  somebody  off  the  train  to  accommo 
date  him.  Unless  you  see  your  way  clear  to  heed 
this  suggestion  your  resignation  is  not  only  in  order 
but  has  already  been  accepted.'  Signed,  'Sweeney.' 

"Do  I  hit  the  target?" 

The  conductor  nodded.  "  You  win,  Mr.  Webster," 
he  admitted. 

"Occasionally  I  lose,  old-timer.     Well?" 

"Who  the  devil  is  Sweeney?" 

John  Stuart  Webster  turned  to  his  cosmopolitan 
comrades  of  the  national  game.  "Listen  to  him,'' 
he  entreated  them.  "  He  has  worked  for  the  company, 
lo,  these  many  years,  and  he  doesn't  know  who 
Sweeney  is?"  He  eyed  the  conductor  severely. 
"Sweeney,"  he  declared,  "is  the  man  who  is  respons 
ible  for  the  whichness  of  the  why-for.  Ignorance  of 
the  man  higher  up  excuses  no  sleeping-car  conductor, 
and  if  your  job  is  gone  when  you  reach  Salt  Lake, 
old-timer,  don't  blame  it  on  me,  but  rather  on  your 
distressing  propensity  to  ask  foolish  questions. 
Vamos,  amigo,  and  leave  me  to  my  despair.  Can't 
you  see  I'm  happy  here?" 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  9 

"No  offense,  Mr.  Webster,  no  offense.  I  can  let 
you  have  a  stateroom 

"That's  trading  talk.     I'll  take  it." 

The  conductor  gave  him  his  receipt  and  led  him 
back  to  the  stateroom  in  the  observation-car.  At 
the  door  Webster  handed  him  a  five-dollar  bill. 
"For  you,  son,"  he  said  gently,  "just  to  take  the  sting 
out  of  what  I'm  about  to  tell  you.  Now  that  I  pos 
sess  your  receipt  and  know  that  ten  men  and  a  boy 
cannot  take  it  away  from  me,  I'm  going  to  tell  you 
who  Sweeney  is." 

"Who  is  he?"  the  conductor  queried.  Already  he 
suspected  he  had  been  outgeneralled. 

"Sweeney,"  said  Mr.  Webster,  "is  the  chief  clerk 
in  one  of  Chicago's  most  pretentious  .hotels  and  a 
young  man  who  can  find  all  the  angles  of  a  situation 
without  working  it  out  in  logarithms.  I  wired  him 
the  details  of  my  predicament;  he  heard  the  Mace 
donian  cry  and  kicked  in.  Neat,  is  it  not?" 

The  conductor  grinned.  "I  hate  to  take  your 
money,"  he  declared. 

"Don't.  Just  at  present  I'm  very  flush.  Yes,  sir, 
I'm  as  prosperous  as  a  yearling  burro  up  to  his  ears  in 
alfalfa,  and  the  only  use  I  have  ever  found  for  money 
is  to  make  other  people  happy  with  it,  thereby  getting 
some  enjoyment  out  of  it  myself.  Just  as  soon  as  I 
get  a  little  chunk  together,  some  smarter  man  than  I 
takes  it  all  away  from  me  again — so  the  cleaning 
process  might  just  as  well  start  here.  When  I'm 
broke  I'll  make  some  more." 

"How?" 


10  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"By  remembering  that  all  a  man  needs  in  this 
world,  in  order  to  excel,  is  about  two  per  cent,  more 
courage  than  a  jack-rabbit;  also  that  an  ounce  of 
promotion  in  a  world  of  boobs  is  worth  a  ton  of 
perspiration.  Thank  you  for  falling  for  my  bluff." 

And  having  wotted  the  which,  Mr.  Webster  re 
tired  to  his  hard-won  sanctuary,  where  he  removed 
as  much  alkali  and  perspiration  as  he  could,  carded 
his  long  hair  and  whiskers,  manicured  his  finger  nails 
with  a  jack-knife,  changed  his  shirt,  provided  five 
minutes  of  industry  for  George,  with  his  whiskbroom 
and  brush,  and  set  himself  patiently  to  await  the 
first  call  to  dinner. 

The  better  to  hear  the  dinner  call  Webster  left  his 
stateroom  door  open,  and  presently  a  pink-jowled, 
well-curried,  flashily  dressed  big  man,  of  about 
Webster's  age,  passed  in  the  corridor,  going  toward 
the  head  of  the  train.  An  instant  later  a  woman's 
voice  said  very  distinctly: 

"I  do  not  know  you,  sir;  I  do  not  wish  to  know  you, 
and  it  is  loathsome  of  you  to  persist  in  addressing  me. 
If  you  do  not  stop  your  annoying  attentions,  I  shall 
call  the  conductor." 

"Ah!  Beauty  in  distress,"  John  Stuart  Webster 
soliloquized.  "I  look  so  much  like  an  Angora  goat 
I  might  as  well  butt  in."  He  stepped  to  the  door  of 
his  stateroom.  A  girl  stood  in  the  vestibule,  con 
fronting  the  man  who  had  just  passed  Webster's 
door.  Webster  bowed. 

"Madame,  or  mademoiselle,  as  the  case  may  be," 
he  said,  "unlike  this  other  male  biped,  my  sole  pur- 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  11 

pose  in  presuming, to  address  you  is  to  suggest  that 
there  is  not  the  slightest  necessity  for  taking  this 
matter  up  with  the  conductor.  I  am  here  and  very 
much  at  your  service." 

The  girl  turned — and  John  Stuart  Webster's  heart 
flopped  twice  in  rapid  succession,  like  a  trout  newly 
grassed.  She  was  as  lovely  as  a  royal  flush.  Her 
starry  glance  began  at  his  miner's  boots,  travelled  up 
his  old,  soiled,  whipcord  trousers,  over  his  light  blue 
chambray  shirt  and  found  the  man  behind  the 
whiskers.  She  favoured  him  with  a  quick,  curious 
scrutiny  and  a  grave,  sweet  smile.  "Thank  you  so 
much,  sir,"  she  answered,  and  passed  down  the  cor 
ridor  to  the  observation-car. 

"Well,  old-timer,"  Webster  greeted  the  fellow  who 
had  been  annoying  her,  "how  about  you?  What  do 
you  think  we  ought  to  do  about  this  little  affair?" 

"The  sensible  thing  would  be  to  do — nothing." 

"Nothing?" 

"Nothing." 

"Why?" 

"  You  might  start  something  you  couldn't  finish." 

"That's  a  dare,"  Webster  declared  brightly,  "and 
wasn't  it  the  immortal  Huckleberry  Finn  who  re 
marked  that  anybody  that'd  take  a  dare  would  suck 
eggs  and  steal  sheep?"  He  caressed  his  beard 
meditatively.  "They  say  the  good  Lord  made  man 
to  His  own  image  and  likeness.  I  take  it  those  were 
only  the  specifications  for  the  building  complete — 
the  painting  and  interior  decorating,  not  to  mention 
the  furnishings,  being  let  to  a  sub-contractor."  He 


12  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

was  silent  a  few  seconds,  appraising  his  man.  "I 
suppose  you  commenced  operations  by  moving  into 
her  section  and  asking  if  she  would  like  to  have  the 
window  open  and  enjoy  the  fresh  air.  Of  course  if 
she  had  wanted  the  window  open,  she  would  have 
called  the  porter.  She  rebuffed  you,  but  being  a 
persistent  devil,  you  followed  her  into  the  observa 
tion-car,  and  in  all  probability  you  ogled  her  at 
luncheon  and  ruined  her  appetite.  And  just  now, 
when  you  met  her  in  this  vestibule,  you  doubtless 
jostled  her,  begged  her  pardon  and  without  waiting  to 
be  introduced  asked  her  to  have  dinner  with  you  this 
evening." 

"Well?"  the  fellow  echoed  belligerently. 

"It's  all  bad  form.  You  shouldn't  try  to  make  a 
mash  on  a  lady.  I  don't  know  who  she  is,  of  course, 
but  she's  not  common;  she's  travelling  without  a 
chaperon,  I  take  it,  and  for  the  sake  of  the  mother 
that  bore  me  I  always  respect  and  protect  a  good 
woman  and  whale  hell  out  of  those  that  do  not." 

He  reached  inside  his  stateroom  and  pressed  the 
bell.  The  porter  arrived  on  the  run. 

"George,"  said  Mr.  Webster,  "in  a  few  minutes 
we're  due  at  Smith ville.  If  my  memory  serves 
me  aright,  we  stop  five  minutes  for  water  and 
orders." 

"Yassah." 

"Remain  right  here  and  let  me  off  as  soon  as  the 
train  comes  to  a  stop." 

When  the  train  slid  to  a  grinding  halt  and  the 
porter  opened  the  car  door,  Webster  pointed. 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  13 

"Out!"  he  said.     "This  is  no  nice  place  to  pull  off  a 
scrap." 

"See  here,  neighbour,  I  don't  want  to  have  any 
trouble  with  you " 


"I  know  it.  All  the  same,  you're  going  to  have  it 
come  with  me  to  that  young  lady  and  beg  her 
pardon." 

There  are  some  things  in  this  world  which  the  most 
craven  of  men  will  not  do — and  the  vanity  of  that 
masher  forbade  acceptance  of  Webster's  alternative. 
He  preferred  to  fight,  but — he  did  not  purpose  being 
thrashed.  He  resolved  on  strategy. 

"All  right.  I'll  apologize,"  he  declared,  and 
started  forward  as  if  to  pass  Webster  in  the  vestibule, 
on  his  way  to  the  observation-car,  whither  the  sub 
ject  of  his  annoying  attentions  had  gone.  Two  steps 
brought  him  within  striking  distance  of  his  enemy, 
and  before  Webster  could  dodge,  a  sizzling  right- 
handed  blow  landed  on  his  jaw  and  set  him  back  on 
his  haunches  in  the  vestibule. 

It  was  almost  a  knockout — almost,  but  not  quite. 
As  Webster's  body  struck  the  floor  the  big  automatic 
came  out  of  the  holster;  swinging  in  a  weak  circle,  it 
covered  the  other. 

"That  was  a  daisy,"  Webster  mumbled.  "If 
you  move  before  my  head  clears,  I'll  put  four  bullets 
into  you  before  you  reach  the  corridor." 

He  waited  about  a  minute;  then  with  the  gun  he 
pointed  to  the  car  door,  and  the  masher  stepped  out. 
Webster  handed  the  porter  his  gun  and  followed; 
two  minutes  later  he  returned,  dragging  his  assailant 


14  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

by  the  collar.  Up  the  steps  he  jerked  the  big  bat 
tered  hulk  and  tossed  it  in  the  corner  of  the  vestibule, 
just  as  the  girl  came  through  the  car,  making  for  the 
diner  up  ahead. 

Again  she  favoured  him  with  that  calm,  grave,  yet 
vitally  interested  gaze,  nodded  appreciatively,  made 
as  if  to  pass  on,  changed  her  mind,  and  said  very 
gravely:  "You  are — a  very  courtly  gentleman,  sir." 

He  bowed.  There  was  nothing  else  to  do,  nothing 
that  he  could  say,  under  the  circumstances;  to  use 
his  chivalry  as  a  wedge  to  open  an  acquaintance 
never  occurred  to  him — but  his  whiskers  did  occur  to 
him.  Hastily  he  backed  into  his  stateroom  and 
closed  the  door;  presently  he  rose  and  surveyed  him 
self  critically  in  the  small  mirror  over  the  washstand. 

"No,  Johnny,"  he  murmured,  "we  can't  go  into 
the  diner  now.  We're  too  blamed  disreputable. 
We  were  bad  enough  before  that  big  swine  hung  the 
shanty  on  our  right  eye,  but  whatever  our  physical 
and  personal  feelings,  far  be  it  from  us  to  parade 
our  iridescent  orb  in  public.  Besides,  one  look  at 
that  queen  is  enough  to  do  us  for  the  remainder  of  our 
natural  life,  and  a  second  look,  minus  a  proper  intro 
duction,  would  only  drive  us  into  a  suicide's  grave. 
That's  a  fair  sample  of  our  luck,  Johnny.  It  rains 
duck  soup — and  we're  there  like  a  Chinaman — with 
chopsticks ;  and  on  the  only  day  in  the  history  of  the 
human  race,  here  I  am  with  a  marvellous  black  eye, 
a  dislocated  thumb,  four  skinned  knuckles,  and  a 
grouch,  while  otherwise  looking  like  a  cross  between 
Rip  Van  Winkle  and  a  hired  man."  He  sighed,  rang 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  15 

for  the  porter  and  told  him  to  send  a  waiter  for  his 
order,  since  he  would  fain  break  his  fast  in  the  pri 
vacy  of  his  stateroom.  And  when  the  waiter  came 
for  the  order,  such  was  Mr.  Webster's  mental  per 
turbation  that  ham  and  eggs  were  furthest  from  his 
thoughts.  He  ordered  a  steak  with  French  fried 
potatoes. 


CHAPTER  TWO 

JOHN  STUART  WEBSTER  passed  a  restless 
night.  Sleep  came  to  him  in  hourly  install 
ments,  from  which  he  would  rouse  to  ask  him 
self  whether  it  was  worth  while  to  continue  to  go 
through  the  motions  of  living,  or  alight  at  the  next 
station,  seek  a  lonely  and  unfrequented  spot  and 
there  surrender  to  outrageous  fortune.  He  had 
lived  every  moment  of  his  life;  fair  fortune  and  ill 
had  been  his  portion  so  often  that  he  had  long  since 
ceased  to  care  which  took  precedence  over  the  other; 
to  quote  Mr.  Kipling,  he  had  schooled  himself  to 
"treat  those  two  impostors  both  the  same" — not  a 
very  difficult  task,  if  one  be  granted  a  breathing  spell 
between  the  arrival  of  each  impostor!  Hitherto,  in 
Webster's  experience,  there  had  always  been  a  decent 
interval  between  the  two — say  a  day,  a  week,  a  month 
or  more;  whereas  in  the  present  instance,  two  minutes 
had  sufficed  to  make  the  journey  from  a  heaven  of 
contentment  to  the  dungeons  of  despair. 

It  was  altogether  damnable.  In  a  careless  mo 
ment,  Fate  had  accorded  him  a  glimpse  of  the  only 
woman  he  had  ever  met  and  desired  to  meet  again — 
for  Webster  was  essentially  a  man's  man,  and  his 
profession  and  environment  had  militated  against 
his  opportunities  for  meeting  extraordinary  women; 

16 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  17 

and  extraordinary  women  were  the  only  kind  that 
could  hope  to  challenge  his  serious  attention.  Had 
his  luck  changed  there,  he  might  have  rested  content 
with  his  lot — but  it  hadn't.  Fate  had  gone  farther. 
She  had  accorded  him  a  signal  opportunity  for 
knightly  combat  in  the  service  of  this  extraordinary 
woman;  and  in  the  absence  of  a  formal  introduction, 
what  man  could  desire  a  finer  opportunity  for  getting 
acquainted!  If  only  their  meeting  had  but  been 
delayed  two  weeks,  ten  days,  a  week!  Once  free  of 
his  ugly  cocoon  of  rags  and  whiskers,  the  butterfly 
Webster  would  not  have  hesitated  one  brief  instant  to 
inform  himself  of  that  young  lady's  name  and  address, 
following  his  summary  disposal  of  her  tormentor. 
Trusting  to  the  mingled  respect  and  confusion  in  his 
manner,  and  to  her  own  womanly  intuition  to  warn 
her  that  no  rudeness  or  brazen  familiarity  was  in 
tended,  he  would  have  presented  himself  before  her 
and  addressed  her  in  these  words : 

"A  few  minutes  ago,  Miss,  you  were  gracious 
enough  to  accord  me  the  rare  pleasure  of  being  of 
slight  service  to  you.  May  I  presume  on  that  evi 
dence  of  your  generosity  and  perfect  understanding 
to  risk  a  seeming  impertinence  by  presuming  to 
address  y$u?" 

Webster  pictured  her  as  bowing,  favouring  him  with 
that  grave  yet  interested  scrutiny  and  saying :  "  Cer 
tainly,  sir."  Whereupon  he  would  say: 

"It  has  occurred  to  me — for,  like  Bimi,  the  orang 
outang,  I  have  perhaps  too  much  ego  in  my  cosmos — 
that  you  might  be  charitabl  moved  to  admit  me  to 


18  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

the  happy  circle  of  those  privileged  to  call  you  by 
name.  Were  there  a  mutual  friend  on  this  train 
whom  I  could  prevail  upon  to  introduce  me  formally, 
I  should  not  be  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  being  un 
conventional.  Under  the  circumstances,  however,  I 
am  daring  enough  to  presume  that  this  misfortune 
is  not  so  great  that  I  should  permit  it  to  interfere  with 
my  respectful  desires.  Therefore — have  I  your  per 
mission  to  present  myself,  with  the  hope  that  in 
so  doing  I  may  feel  freer  to  be  of  additional  serv 
ice  to  you  throughout  the  remainder  of  our  jour- 
ney?"  * 

That  would  be  a  pretty,  a  graceful  speech — a  little 
ornate,  doubtless,  but  diplomatic  in  the  extreme. 
Having  been  accorded  permission  to  introduce  him 
self,  he  would  cease  thereafter  to  be  flowery.  How 
ever,  Webster  realized  that  however  graceful  might 
be  his  speech  and  bearing,  should  he  essay  the  great 
adventure  in  the  morning,  his  appearance  would 
render  him  ridiculous  and  presumptuous  and  perhaps 
shock  and  humiliate  her;  for  in  all  things  there  is  a 
limit,  and  John  Stuart  Webster's  right  eye  consti 
tuted  a  deadline  beyond  which,  as  a  gentleman,  he 
dared  not  venture;  so  with  a  heavy  heart  he  bowed 
to  the  inevitable.  Brilliant  and  mysterious  as  a 
meteorite  she  had  flashed  once  across  his  horizon  and 
was  gone. 

In  the  privacy  of  his  stateroom  Webster  had  ham 
and  eggs  for  breakfast.  He  was  lighting  his  second 
cigar  when  the  porter  knocked  and  entered  with  an 
envelope. 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  19 

"  Lady  in  the  observation-car  asked  me  to  deliver 
this  to  you,  sah,"  he  announced  importantly. 

It  'was  a  note,  freshly  written  on  the  train  sta 
tionery.  Webster  read: 

The  distressed  lady  desires  to  thank  the  gentleman  in 
stateroom  A  for  his  chivalry  of  yesterday.  She  quite 
realizes  that  the  gentleman's  offer  to  relieve  her  of  the 
annoyance  to  which  she  was  being  subjected  was  such  a 
direct  expression  of  his  nature  and  code,  that  to  have  de 
clined  his  aid  would  have  been  discourteous,  despite  her 
distress  at  the  possible  outcome.  She  is  delighted  to 
know  that  hep  confidence  in  the  ability  of  her  champion 
has  been  fully  justified  by  a  swift  and  sweeping  victory, 
but  profoundly  sorry  that  in  her  service  the  gentleman  in 
stateroom  A  was  so  unfortunate  as  to  acquire  a  red  eye 
with  blue  trimmings. 

John  Stuart  Webster  swore  his  mightiest  oath, 
"By  the  twelve  apostles,  Simon  Peter,  Andrew, 
James,  John,  Philip,  Bartholomew,  Matthew, 
Thomas,  James,  Jude,  and  Simon,  not  omitting  Judas 
Iscariot,  the  scaly  scoundrel  who  betrayed  his  Lord 
and  Master!"  He  searched  through  an  old  wallet 
until  he  discovered  a  fairly  clean  professional  card, 
across  the  bottom  of  which  he  wrote,  "  Thank  you. 
J.  S.  W"  and  sent  it  to  the  no-longer-distressed  lady. 

"The  most  signal  adventure  of  my  life  is  now 
over,"  he  soliloquized  and  turned  to  his  cigar.  "For 
the  sake  of  my  self-respect,  I  had  to  let  her  know  I'm 
not  a  hobo!  And  now  to  the  task  of  framing  up  a 
scheme  for  future  acquaintance.  I  must  learn  her 


20  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

name  and  destination;  so  as  a  preliminary  I'll  inter 
view  the  train  conductor." 

He  did,  and  under  the  ameliorating  influence  of  a 
five-dollar  bill  the  conductor  bent  a  respectful  ear  to 
the  Websterian  message. 

"In  Car  Seven,"  he  began,  "there  is  a  young  lady. 
I  do  not  know  what  section  she  occupies;  neither  do  I 
know  her  name  and  destination.  I  only  know  what 
she  looks  like." 

The  conductor  nodded.  "And  you  want  to  ascer 
tain  her  name  and  destination?" 

"I  do." 

"Easiest  thing  in  life.  There  is  only  one  young 
lady  in  Car  Seven.  I  suppose  you  mean  that 
queen  with  the  olive  complexion,  the  green  suit, 
and " 

"Hold!    Enough." 

"All  right.  I  have  the  unused  portion  of  her 
transportation  to  return  to  her  before  we  hit  Salt 
Lake;  her  name  is  on  the  ticket,  and  the  ticket  in 
dicates  her  destination.  I'll  make  a  mental  note  of 
both  as  soon  as  I've  identified  her  ticket." 

"After  you've  made  the  said  mental  note," 
Webster  pleaded,  "be  sure  you  write  it  down,  so 
you'll  not  forget." 

A  few  hours  later  the  conductor  came  to  Webster's 
stateroom  and  handed  him  a  card  upon  which  was 
written: 

Dolores  Ruey.  From  Los  Angeles,  via  San  Pedro,  Los 
Angeles  &  Salt  Lake,  to  Salt  Lake  City.  Denver  &  Rio 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  21 

Grande  to  Denver,   Burlington    to  St.   Louis,  [Illinois 
Central  to  New  Orleans.     Stop-over  at  Denver. 

John  Stuart  Webster  studied  the  name  after  the 
conductor  withdrew.  That's  a  Spanish  name,"  he 
soliloquized,  "but  for  all  that,  she's  not  a  parakeet. 
There's  something  Gaelic  about  her  features,  par 
ticularly  her  eyes.  They're  brown,  with  golden 
flecks  in  them,  and  if  she  had  a  drop  of  dark  blood  in 
her,  they'd  be  smoky  and  languid.  Also  if  she  were 
a  Latin  she  would  have  referred  to  my  black  eye — 
whereas  she  referred  tc*a  red  eye  with  blue  trimmings ! 
Same  thing  but  different!  All  things  considered,  I 
guess  I'll  take  a  chance  and  investigate." 


CHAPTER  THREE 

WEBSTER'S  dreams  of  bliss  had,  with  very 
slight  variation,  come  true  as  per  schedule. 
In  Salt  Lake  City  he  abandoned  the  beef 
steak  on  his  damaged  eye  for  two  businesslike  leeches, 
which  quickly  reduced  the  nocturne  effect  around  his 
orb,  enabling  him,  the  third  day,  to  saunter  forth 
among  his  fellowmen.  By  the  end  of  the  week  he 
was  a  being  reincarnated,  and  so  he  packed  a  huge 
new  wardrode-trunk  with  his  latest  purchases  and 
journeyed  on  to  Denver.  Coincident  with  his  arrival 
there,  we  again  take  up  the  thread  of  our  story. 

One  hour  after  his  trunk  arrived  the  gentleman 
from  Death  Valley  might  have  been  observed  stand 
ing  before  a  cheval  glass  looking  long  and  earnestly 
at  the  reflection  of  his  middle-aged  person,  the  while 
he  marked  the  fit  of  his  new  raiment. 

Let  us  describe  these  habiliments,  alleging  as  an 
excuse  for  dwelling  with  emphasis  upon  the  subject 
the  fact  that  John  Stuart  Webster  was  all  dressed  up 
for  the  first  time  in  three  long,  labour-ridden  years, 
and  was  tremendously  glad  of  it.  Hark  to  this 
inventory.  There  were  the  silken  hose  and  under 
wear  next  his  well-scrubbed  skin;  then  there  was  the 
white  pleated  linen  shirt — a  shirt  so  expensive  and 
exquisite  that  Mr.  Webster  longed  to  go  somewhere 

22 


WEBSTER—MAN'S  MAN  23 

and  shoot  a  game  of  billiards,  in  order  that  thus  he 
might  have  an  excuse  to  remove  his  coat  and  exhibit 
that  shirt  to  the  gaze  of  the  multitude.  His  collar 
irked  him  slightly,  but  he  had  been  assured  by  the 
clerk  who  sold  it  to  him  that  it  was  strictly  in  vogue. 
His  gray  silk  Ascot  tie  was  held  in  a  graceful  puff 
by  a  scarfpin  with  a  head  of  perfect  crystal  prettily 
shot  with  virgin  gold;  his  black  afternoon  coat  en 
veloped  his  wide  shoulders  and  flanked  his  powerful 
neck  with  the  perfection  of  the  epidermis  on  a  goose 
in  the  pink  of  condition;  his  gray  striped  trousers 
broke  exactly  right  over  his  new  "patent  leather" 
shoes.  The  tout  ensemble,  as  the  gentleman  himself 
might  have  expressed  it  had  he  possessed  a  working 
knowledge  of  French  (which  he  did  not) ,  was  perfect. 

He  "shot"  his  cuffs  and  strutted  backward  and 
forward,  striving  to  observe  his  spinal  column  over 
his  right  shoulder,  for  he  was  in  a  transport  of  delight 
as  truly  juvenile  as  that"  on  the  never-to-be-forgotten 
day  when  he  had  attained  to  the  dignity  of  his  first 
pair  of  long  trousers.  He  observed  to  himself  that  it 
was  truly  remarkable,  the  metamorphosis  nine  tailors 
and  a  talkative  barber  can  make  in  an  old  sour-dough. 

Presently,  convinced  that  he  was  the  glass  of 
fashion  and  the  mould  of  form,  Mr.  Webster  took  up  a 
smart  lancewood  stick  and  a  pair  of  new  gray  suede 
gloves  and  descended  to  the  lobby  of  Denver's  most 
exclusive  hotel.  He  paused  at  the  cigar  stand  long 
enough  to  fill  his  case  with  three-for-a-half  perfectos 
and  permit  the  young  woman  in  charge  to  feast  her 
world-weary  eyes  on  his  radiant  person  (which  she 


24  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

did,  classifying  and  tabulating  him  instantly  as  a 
millionaire  mining  man  from  Nevada) .  After  this  he 
lighted  a  cigar  and  stepped  forth  into  Seventeenth 
Street,  along  which  he  strolled  until  he  came  to  a 
certain  building  into  the  elevator  of  which  he  entered 
and  was  whisked  to  the  twelfth  floor,  where  he 
alighted  and  found  himself  before  a  wide  portal  which 
bore  in  gold  letters  the  words: 


ENGINEERS' 

CLUB 

The  Engineers'  Club  was  the  closest  approach  to  a 
home  that  John  Stuart  Webster  had  known  for 
twenty  years,  and  so  he  paused  just  within  the  en 
trance  to  perform  the  time-honoured  ceremonial  of 
home-coming.  Over  the  arched  doorway  leading 
to  the  lounge  hung  a  large  bronze  gong  such  as  is 
used  in  mines,  and  from  the  lever  of  the  gong-clapper 
depended  a  cord  which  Webster  seized  and  jerked 
thrice — thus  striking  the  signal  known  to  all  of  the 
mining  fraternity — the  signal  to  hoist!  Only  those 
nembers  who  had  been  sojourning  in  distant  parts 
six  months  or  more  were  privileged  thus  to  disturb 
the  peace  and  dignity  of  the  Engineers'  Club,  the 
same  privilege,  by  the  way,  carrying  with  it  the  ob 
ligation  of  paying  for  the  materials  shortly  to  be 
hoisted ! 

Having  announced  the  return  of  a  prodigal,  our 
hero  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  lounge  and  shouted: 

"John  Stuart  Webster,  E.  M." 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  25 

The  room  was  empty.  Not  a  single  member  was 
present  to  greet  the  wanderer  and  accept  of  his 
invitation ! 

"Home  was  never  like  this  when  I  was  a  boy," 
La  complained  to  the  servant  at  the  telephone  ex 
change.  "Times  must  be  pretty  good  in  the  mining 
game  in  Colorado  when  everybody  ha,s  a  job  that 
keeps  him  out  of  Denver." 

The  servant  rose  and  essayed  a  raid  on  his  hat  and 
stick,  but  Mr.  Webster,  who  was  impatient  at  thus 
finding  himself  amidst  old  scenes,  fended  him  away 
and  said  "Shoo  fly!"  Then  he  crossed  the  empty 
lounge  and  ascended  the  stairs  leading  to  the  card 
room,  at  the  entrance  of  which  he  paused,  leaning  on 
his  stick — in  unconscious  imitation  of  a  Sicilian 
gentleman  posing  for  his  photograph  after  his  first 
payday  in  America — swept  that  room  with  a  wistful 
eye  and  sighed  because  nothing  had  changed  in  three 
long  years. 

Save  for  the  slight  job  of  kalsomining  which  Father 
Time  had  done  on  the  edges  of  the  close-cropped 
Websterian  moustache,  the  returned  prodigal  might 
have  stepped  out  of  the  Club  but  yesterday.  He 
would  not  have  taken  the  short  end  of  a  modest  bet 
that  even  a  fresh  log  had  been  placed  on  the  fire  or 
that  the  domino-players  over  against  the  wall  had 
won  or  lost  a  drink  or  two  and  then  resumed  playing 
—although  perchance  there  were  a  few  more  gray 
hairs  in  the  thickly  thatched  head  of  old  Neddy 
Jerome,  sitting  in  his  favourite  seat  by  the  window 
and  turning  the  cards  in  his  eternal  game  of  solitaire, 


26  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

in  blissful  ignorance  that  John  Stuart  Webster  stood 
within  the  portals  of  home  and  awaited  the  fatted 
calf. 

"I'll  hypnotize  the  old  pelican  into  looking  up," 
Webster  soliloquized,  and  forthwith  bent  a  beetling 
gaze  upon  the  player.  For  as  many  as  five  seconds  he 
strove  to  demonstrate  the  superiority  of  mind  over 
solitaire;  then,  despairing  of  success,  he  struck  the 
upholstery  of  an  adjacent  chair  a  terrific  blow  with 
his  stick — the  effect  of  which  was  to  cause  everybody 
in  the  room  to  start  and  to  conceal  Mr.  Webster 
momentarily  in  a  cloud  of  dust,  the  while  in  a 
bellowing  baritone  he  sang: 

His  father  was  a  hard-rock  miner; 
He  comes  from  my  home  town 


"Jack  Webster!  The  devil's  own  kin!"  shouted 
Neddy  Jerome.  He  swept  the  cards  into  a  heap  and 
waddled  across  the  room  to  meet  this  latest  assailant 
of  the  peace  and  dignity  of  the  Engineers'  Club. 
"You  old,  worthless,  ornery,  no-good  son  of  a  lizard! 
I've  never  been  so  glad  to  see  a  man  that  didn't 
owe  me  money."  He  seized  Webster's  hand  in  both 
of  his  and  wrung  it  affectionately.  "Jack,"  he  con 
tinued,  "I've  been  combing  the  whole  civilized 
world  for  you,  for  a  month,  at  least.  Where  the 
devil  have  you  been?" 

John  Stuart  Webster  beamed  happily  upon  his 
friend.  "Well,  Neddy,  you  old  stocking-knitter," 
he  replied  quizzically,  "since  that  is  the  case,  I'm 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  27 

not  surprised  at  your  failure  to  find  me.  You've 
known  me  long  enough  to  have  remembered  to  con 
fine  your  search  to  the  uncivilized  reaches." 

"Well,  you're  here,  at  any  rate,  and  I'm  happy. 
Now  you'll  settle  down." 

"  Hardly,  Neddy.  I'm  young  yet,  you  know — only 
forty.  Still  a  real  live  man  and  not  quite  ready  to 
degenerate  into  a  card-playing,  eat-drink-and-be- 
merry,  die-of-inanition,  sink-to-oblivion,  and  go-to- 
hell  fireplace  spirit ! "  And  he  prodded  Jerome  in  the 
short  ribs  with  a  tentative  thumb  that  caused  the 
old  man  to  wince.  He  turned  to  greet  the  half- 
dozen  card-players  who  had  looked  up  at  his  noisy 
rance — deciding  that  since  they  were  strangers  to 

J.  they  were  mere  half-baked  young  whelps  but 
lately  graduated  from  some  school  of  mines — and  per 
mitted  his  friend  to  drag  him  downstairs  to  the  de 
serted  lounge,  where  Jerome  paused  in  the  middle  of 
the  room  and  renewed  his  query: 

"Johnny,  where  have  you  been?" 

"Lead  me  to  a  seat,  O  thou  of  little  manners," 
Webster  retorted.  "Here,  boy!  Remove  my  prop 
erty  and  guard  it  well.  I  will  stay  and  disport  my 
self."  And  he  suffered  himself  to  be  dispossessed  of 
his  hat,  gloves,  and  stick.  "It  used  to  be  the  custom 
here,"  he  resumed,  addressing  Jerome,  "that  when 
one  of  the  Old  Guard  returned,  he  was  obliged  to  ask 
his  friends  to  indicate  their  poison— 

"Where  have  you  been,  I  ask?" 

"Out  in  Death  Valley,  California,  trying  to  pry 
loose  a  fortune." 


28  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Did  you  pry  it?" 

John  Stuart  Webster  arched  his  eyebrows  in  mock 
reproach.  "And  you  can  see  my  new  suit,  Neddy, 
my  sixteen-dollar,  made-to-order  shoes,  and  my 
horny  hoofs  encased  in  silken  hose — and  ask  that 
question?  Freshly  shaved  and  ironed  and  almost 
afraid  to  sit  down  and  get  wrinkles  in  my  trousers! 
Smell  that!"  He  blew  a  cloud  of  cigar  smoke  into 
Jerome's  smiling  face.  The  latter  sniffed.  "It 
smells  expensive,"  he  replied. 

"Yes,  and  you  can  bet  it  tastes  expensive,  too," 
Webster  answered,  handing  his  cigar-case  to  his 
friend — who  helped  himself  and  said: 

"So  you've  made  your  pile,  eh,  Jack?" 

"Do  you  suppose  I  would  have  come  back  10 
Colorado  without  money?  Haven't  you  lived  long 
enough,  Neddy,  to  realize  that  when  a  man  has 
money  he  never  knows  where  to  go  to  spend  it?  It's 
so  blamed  hard  to  make  up  one's  mind,  with  all  the 
world  to  choose  from,  and  so  the  only  place  I  could 
think  of  W-LS  the  old  Engineers'  Club  in  Denver. 
There,  at  legist,  I  knew  I  would  find  one  man  of 
my  acquaintance — an  old  granny  named  Neddy 
Jerome.  Yes,  Neddy,  I  knew  I  would  find  you  play 
ing  solitaire,  with  your  old  heart  beating  about 
seven  times  an  hour,  your  feet  good  and  warm,  and 
a  touch  of  misery  around  your  liver  from  lack  of 


exercise." 


Jerome  bit  the  end  of  his  cigar  and  spat  derisively^ 

How  much  have  you  made?"  he  demanded  bluntly/ 

"It's  none  of  your  business,  but  I'll  tell  you  because 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  29 

I  love  you,  Neddy.     I've  'made  one  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars." 

"Chicken-feed,"  Jerome  retorted. 

Webster  glanced  around .  "I  thought  at  first  noth 
ing  had  changed  in  the  old  place,"  he  said,  "but  I 
see  I  was  mistaken." 

"Why,  what's  wrong,  Jack?" 

"Why,  when  I  was  here  before,  they  used  to  ask  a 
man  'if  he  had  a  mouth — and  now  they  ask  him  how 
much  money  he's  made,  where  be  made  it,  and — why, 
hello,  Mose,  you  black  old  scoundrel,  how  do  you  do? 
Glad  to  see  you.  Take  the  order,  Mose:  some  milk 

and  vichy  for  Mr.  Jerome,  and  a " 

Y'Yassuh,    yassuh,"    Mose    interrupted,    "an'    a 
.^linger  for  you,  suh." 

"Gone  but  not  forgotten,"  breathed  Mr.  Webster, 
and  walled  his  eyes  piously  after  the  fashion  of  one 
about  to  say  grace  before  a  meal.  "How  sweet  a 
thing  is  life  with  a  club  servant  like  old  black  Mose, 
who  does  things  without  an  order.  I  feel  at  home — 
at  last." 

"Johnny,"  Jerome  began  again,  "IVe  been  comb 
ing  the  mineral  belt  of  North  and  South  America  for 
you  for  a  month." 

"Why  this  sudden  belated  interest  in  me?" 

"I  have  a  fine  job  for  you,  John " 

"King's  X,"  Webster  interrupted,  and  showed  both 
hands  with  the  fingers  crossed .  *  *  No  plotting  against 
my  peace  and  comfort,  Neddy.  Haven't  I  told  you 
I'm  all  dressed  up  for  the  first  time  in  three  years, 
that  I  have  money  in  my  pocket  and  more  in  bank? 


30  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Man,  I'm  going  to  tread  the  primrose  path  for  a  year 
before  I  get  back  into  the  harness  again." 

Jerome  waved  a  deprecatory  hand,  figuratively 
brushing  aside  such  feeble  and  inconsequential  argu 
ment.  "Are  you  foot-loose?"  he  demanded. 

"I'm  not.     I'm  bound  in  golden  chains " 

"Married,  eh?  Great  Scott,  I  might  have  guessed 
it.  So  you're  on  your  honeymoon,  eh?" 

"No  such  luck,  you  vichy-drinking  iconoclast. 
If  you  had  ever  gotten  far  enough  from  this  club 
during  the  past  fifteen  years  to  get  a  breath  of  real 
fresh  air,  you'd  understand  why  I  want  to  enjoy 
civilization  for  a  week  or  two  before  I  go  back  to  a 
mine  superintendent's  cabin  on  some  bleak  hi1 
No,  sir-ee.  Old  Jeremiah  Q.  Work  and  I  have  had  a*' 
falling  out.  I'm  going  on  to  New  York  and  attend 
the  opera,  see  all  the  good  plays,  mush  around 
through  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  drink 
tea,  and  learn  to  tango."  Webster  sighed  gustily. 
"Lord,  Neddy,  how  I  long  for  the  fleshpots.  I've 
slept  under  the  desert  stars  so  long  I  want  electric 
signs  for  a  change.  Bacon  and  beans  and  sour  dough 
are  wonderful  when  one  hasn't  something  better, 
but  I  crave  an  omelette  souffle  drenched  in  cognac, 
and  the  cognac  afire.  Yes,  and  I  want  an  obsequious 
waiter  to  hurry  in  with  it  and  then  take  a  dollar  tip 
from  me  afterward  for  all  the  world  like  he  was  doing 
me  a  favour  by  accepting  it.  Dad  burn  your  picture, 
Neddy,  I  want  some  class!  I've  been  listening  to  a 
dago  shift-boss  playing  the  accordeon  for  three  years 
— and  he  could  only  play  three  tunes.  Now  I  want 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  31 

Sousa's  band.  I  want  to  hive  up  in  a  swell  hotel  and 
leave  a  call  for  six  o'clock — and  then  when  they  call 
me,  I  want  to  curse  them,  roll  over,  and  go  to  sleep 
again.  I've  been  bathing  in  tepid,  dirty  water  in  a 
redwood  sluice-box,  and  now  I  desire  a  steam  room 
and  a  needle  shower  and  an  osteopath.  I've  been 
bossing  Greasers  and  Italians  and  was  forced  to  learn 
their  language  to  get  results,  and  now  I  want  to 
speak  my  mother  tongue  to  my  old  friends.  The 
last  funny  story  I  heard  had  whiskers  on  it  when 
Rameses  was  playing  hop-scotch  in  Memphis,  Egypt, 
and  by  thunder  I'm  going  to  have  a  new  deal  all 
around." 

"Very  well,  Jack.  Don't  excite  yourself.  I'll 
^ive  you  exactly  thirty  days  to  sicken  of  it  all — and 
then  I  shall  come  and  claim  my  property." 

"Neddy,  I'll  not  work  for  you." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will,  John." 

"No,  sir,  I'm  mad.     I  won't  play." 

"You're  it.     I  just  tagged  you." 

"I  require  a  rest — but  unfold  your  proposition, 
Neddy.  I  was  born  a  poor,  weak  vessel  consumed 
with  a  curiosity  that  was  ever  my  undoing.  I  can 
only  protest  that  this  is  no  way  to  treat  a  friend." 

"Nonsense!  My  own  brother  wants  this  job,  and 
I  have  refused  to  give  it  to  him.  Business  is  busi 
ness — and  I've  saved  it  for  you." 

Jerome  leaned  forward  and  laid  his  finger  con 
fidentially  on  Webster's  knee;  whereat  the  light- 
hearted  wanderer  carefully  lifted  the  finger,  brushed 
an  imaginary  speck  of  dirt  from  it,  and  set  it  down 


32  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

again.     "Be  serious,  you  ingrate,"  Jerome  protested. V 
"Listen!     I've   been  working   for  two  years  on  a 
consolidation  up  near  Telluride,  and  I've  just  put  it 
across.     Jack,  it's  the  biggest  thing  in  the  coun- 

Webster  closed  his  eyes  and  crooned: 

"I'm  dying  for  some  one  to  love  me; 

I'm  tired  of  living  alone; 
I  want  to  be  somebody's  darling, 

To  be  queen  upon  somebody's  throne." 

"Well,  you'll  be  king  on  the  throne  of  the  Colorado 
Consolidated  Mines  Company,  Limited.  English 
capital,  Jack.  Pay  'em  6  per  cent,  and  they'll  call 
you  blessed.  There's  twenty-five  thousand  a  y  ar 
in  it,  with  a  house  and  a  good  cook  and  an  automobile 
and  a  chauffeur,  and  you  can  come  to  town  whenever 
you  please,  provided  you  don't  neglect  the  company's 
interests — and  I  know  you're  not  that  kind  of  an 
engineer."  :  . 

"Do  I  have  to  put  some  money  into  it,  Neddy?" 

"Not  necessarily,  although  I  should  advise  it.  I 
can  let  you  in  on  the  ground  floor  for  that  hundred 
thousand  of  yours,  guarantee  you  a  handsome  profit 
and  in  all  probability  a  big  clean-up." 

"I  feel  myself  slipping,  Neddy.  Nevertheless,  the 
tail  goes  with  the  hide.  I'm  not  in  the  habit  of 
asking  my  friends  to  guarantee  my  investments,  and 
if  you  say  it's  all  right,  I'll  spread  what  I  have  left 
of  the  hundred  thousand  when  I  report  for  duty. 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  S3 

Vhat's  the  news  around  this  mortuary,  anyhow? 
Who's  dead  and  who's  alive?" 

"It's  been  a  tremendous  job  getting  this  consolida 
tion  over,  Jack.  When " 

"  In  pity's  name !  Spare  me.  I've  heard  all  I  want 
to  hear  about  your  confounded  consolidation.  News ! 
News!  Give  me  news!  I  had  to  beg  for  a  drink " 

"I  might  remind  you  that  your  manners  have  not 
improved  with  age,  Jack  Webster.  You  haven't 
thanked  me  for  that  job." 

"No — nor  shall  I.  Mose,  you  black  sinner,  how 
dare  you  appear  before  me  again  without  that 
stinger?" 

Mose,  the  aged  coloured  porter  of  the  Engineers' 
Club,  flashed  a  row  of  ivories  and  respectfully  re 
lumed  the  democratic  greeting. 

''Letter  for  you,  suh.  Tne  secretary  told  me  to 
give  it  to  you,  Mistah  Webster." 

"Thank  you,  Mose.  Speak  up,  Neddy,  and  tell 
me  something.  Ever  hear  anything  of  Billy  Geary?  " 

He  was  tearing  the  edge  of  the  envelope  the  while 
he  gazed  at  Jerome,  who  was  rubbing  his  fat  hands 
together  after  the  fashion  of  elderly  men  who  are  well 
pleased  with  themselves. 

"You  have  a  chance  to  become  one  of  the  greatest 
and  richest  mining  engineers  in  the  world,  Jack," 
he  answered,  "now  that  you've  cut  loose  from  that 
young  crook  Geary.  I  don't  know  what's  become 
of  him,  and  neither  does  anybody  else.  For  that 
matter,  nobody  cares." 

"I  do — and  you  can  take  the  brief  end  of  that  bet 


34  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

for  your  last  white  chip.  Don't  let  me  hear  you 
or  anybody  else  say  anything  against  Billy  Geary. 
That  boy  goes  for  my  money,  every  turn  in  the 
box.  Don't  make  any  mistakes  about  that,  old- 
timer." 

Webster's  face  suddenly  was  serious;  the  bantering 
intonation  in  his  voice  was  gone,  and  a  new,  slightly 
strident  note  had  crept  into  it.  But  Jerome,  en 
grossed  in  his  own  affairs,  failed  to  observe  the  men 
ace  in  that  swift  transition  of  mood  in  his  companion. 
He  waved  his  hand  soothingly. 

"All  right,  old  Johnny  Pepper-box,  have  it  your 
own  way.  Nevertheless,  I'm  a  little  mystified. 
The  last  I  knew  of  you  two,  you  had  testified  against 
him  in  the  high-grader  trials  at  Cripple  Creek,  and  he 
had  pulled  out  under  a  cloud,  even  after  his  acquit 
tal." 

"Give  a  dog  a  bad  name,  and  it  will  stick  to  him," 
Webster  retorted .  "Of  course  I  testified  against  him . 
As  engineer  for  the  Mine  Owners'  Association,  I  had 
to.  The  high-grade  ore  was  found  in  his  assay  office, 
and  the  circumstantial  evidence  was  complete,  and  I 
admit  Billy  was  acquitted  merely  because  I  and 
others  could  not  swear  positively  that  the  ore  came 
from  any  certain  mine.  It  was  the  same  old  story, 
Neddy.  It's  become  history  in  all  mining  camps. 
You  can  be  morally  certain  that  high-grade  ore  has 
been  stolen  from  your  mine,  but  unless  you  catch 
the  ore  thief  in  the  act,  how  can  you  prove  it?  High- 
grade  ore  is  blind  goods  and  is  not  confined  to  any 
certain  man-owned  spot  on  this  wicked  earth — so 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  35 

there  you  are!  I  suppose  you  read  the  newspaper 
reports  and  believed  them,  just  as  everybody  else 
does." 

"Well,  forget  it,  Jack.  It's  all  over  long  ago,  and 
forgotten." 

"It  wasn't  all  over  so  long  ago  as  you  seem  to 
think.  I  suppose  you  knew  the  Holman  gang  was 
afterward  sent  to  the  penitentiary  for  those  same 
high-grade  operations?" 

"Yes." 

"But  I'll  bet  my  new  plug  hat  you  never  knew  I 
was  the  Hawkshaw  that  sent  them  there!  You  bet  I 
was !  Billy  Geary's  acquittal  didn't  end  my  interest 
in  the  case — not  by  a  jugful!  I  fought  the  case 
against  the  friends  of  the  Holman  crew  among  the 
mine  owners  themselves;  and  it  cost  me  my  good  job, 
my  prestige  as  a  mining  engineer,  and  thirty  thousand 
dollars  of  money  that  I'd  slaved  to  get  together. 
They  squeezed  me,  Neddy — squeezed  me  hard  like  a 
lemon,  and  threw  me  away,  but  I  got  them !  I  should 
tell  a  man!  Of  course  you  never  knew  this,  Neddy, 
and  for  that  matter,  neither  does  Geary.  I  wish  he 
did.  We  were  good  friends  once.  I  certainly  was 
mighty  fond  of  that  boy." 

He  drew  the  letter  from  the  envelope  and  slowly 
opened  it,  his  mind  not  upon  the  letter,  but  upon 
Billy  Geary. 

"And  you  never  heard  what  became  of  Geary?" 

"Not  a  word.  I  was  too  busy  wondering  what 
was  to  become  of  me.  I  couldn't  get  a  job  anywhere 
in  Colorado,  and  I  moved  to  Nevada.  Made  a 


36  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

million  m  Goldfield,  dropped  it  in  the  panic  of  1907, 

and  had  to  start  again " 

"What  have  you  been  doing  lately?" 
"Borax.  Staked  a  group  of  claims  down  in  Death 
Valley.  Bully  ground,  Neddy,  and  I  was  busted 
when  I  located  them.  Had  to  borrow  money  to  pay 
the  filing  fees  and  incorporation,  and  did  my  own 
assessment  work.  Look ! "  Webster  held  up  his  hands, 
still  somewhat  grimy  and  calloused. 

"How  did  you  get  by  with  your  bluff?" 
"In  the  only  way  anybody  ever  got  by  on  no  pair. 
I  was  a  brave  dog  and  went  around  with  an  erect  tail, 
talking  in  millions  and  buying  my  tobacco  on  jaw 
bone.  The  Borax  Trust  knew  I  was  busted,  but 
they  never  could  quite  get  over  the  fear  that  I'd 
dig  up  some  blacking  and  give  them  a  run — so  they 
bought  me  out.  Two  weeks  ago  I  got  a  belated 
telegram,  telling  me  there  was  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  in  escrow  against  deeds  and  certificate  of 
title  in  a  Salt  Lake  City  bank — so  here  I  am." 

"Somebody  told  me  Geary  had  gone  to  Rhodesia," 
Jerome  continued  musingly,  "or  maybe  it  was  Cape 
town.  I  know  he  was  seen  somewhere  in  South 
Africa." 

"He  left  the  Creek  immediately  after  the  conclu 
sion  of  his  trial.  Poor  boy!  That  dirty  business 
destroyed  the  lad  and  made  a  tramp  of  him,  I  guess. 
I  tell  you,  Neddy,  no  two  men  ever  lived  who  came 
nearer  to  loving  each  other  than  Billy  Geary  and  his 
old  Jack-pardner.  We  bucked  the  marts  of  men  and 
went  to  sleep  together  hungry  many  a  time  during 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  37 

our  five-year  partnership.  Why,  Bill  was  like  my 
own  boy!  Do  you  know,  Neddy,  now  that  I've 
rounded  the  forty-pole,  I  get  thinking  sometimes, 
and  wish  I  could  have  married  when  I  was  about 
twenty  years  old;  I  might  have  had  a  son  to  knock 
around  with  now,  while  I'm  still  in  the  shank  of  my 
own  youth.  And  if  I  had  been  blessed  with  a  son,  I 
would  have  wanted  him  to  be  just  like  Billy.  You 
know,  Bill  tied  onto  me  when  he  was  about  eighteen. 
He's  rising  twenty-six  now.  He  came  to  me  at  the 
Bonnie  Claire  mine  fresh  from  high  school,  and  I 
staked  him  to  a  drill;  but  he  didn't  stick  there  long. 
I  saw  he  was  too  good  a  boy  to  be  a  mucker  all  his 
days." 

Webster  smiled  reminiscently  and  went  on:  "I'll 
never  forget  the  day  Billy  challenged  a  big  Cornish 
shift-boss  that  called  him  out  of  his  name.  The 
Cousin  Jack  could  fight,  too,  but  Billy  walked  around 
him  like  a  cooper  around  a  barrel,  and  when  he 
finished,  I  fired  the  Cousin  Jack  and  gave  Billy  his 
job!" 

He  chuckled  softly  at  the  remembrance.  "Too 
bad!"  he  continued.  "That  boy  had  brains  and  grit 
and  honour,  and  he  shouldn't  have  held  that  trial 
against  me.  But  Billy  was  young,  I  suppose,  and 
he  just  couldn't  understand  my  position.  It  takes 
the  hard  old  years  to  impart  common  sense  to  a  man, 
and  I  suppose  Billy  couldn't  understand  why  I  had 
to  be  true  to  my  salt.  He  should  have  known  I 
hadn't  a  leg  to  stand  on  when  I  took  the  stand  for  the 
prosecution — not  a  scintilla  of  evidence  to  present, 


I 


38  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

except  that  the  high-grade  had  been  found  in  his 
assay  office.  Jerome,  I  curse  the  day  I  took  that  boy 
out  from  underground  and  put  him  in  the  Bonnie 
Claire  assay  office  to  learn  the  business.  How  could 
I  know  that  the  Holman  gang  had  cached  the  stuff 
in  his  shack?" 

"Well,  it's  too  bad,"  Jerome  answered  dully. 
He  was  quite  willing  that  the  subject  of  conversation 
should  be  changed.  "I'm  glad  to  get  the  right  dope 
on  the  boy,  anyhow.  We  might  be  able  to  hand  him 
a  good  job  to  make  up  for  the  injustice.  Have 
another  drink?" 

"Not  until  I  read  this  letter.  Now,  who  the 
dickens  knew  I  was  headed  for  Denver  and  the 
Engineers'  Club?  I  didn't  tell  a  soul,  and  I  only  ar 
rived  this  morning." 

He  turned  to  the  last  page  to  ascertain  the  identity 
of  his  correspondent,  and  his  facial  expression  ran 
the  gamut  from  surprise  to  a  joy  that  was  good  to  see. 

It  was  a  long  letter,  and  John  Stuart  Webster  read 
it  deliberately.  When  he  had  read  it  once,  he  reread 
it;  after  which  he  sat  in  silent  contemplation  of  the 
design  of  the  carpet  for  fully  a  minute  before  reaching 
for  the  bell.  A  servant  responded  immediately. 

"Bring  me  the  time-tables  of  all  roads  leading  to 
New  Orleans,"  he  ordered,  " — also  a  cable  blank." 

Webster  had  reread  the  letter  before  the  servant- 
returned  with  the  time-tables.  He  glanced  through 
them.  "Henry,"  he  announced,  "your  name  is 
Henry,  isn't  it?"  , 

"No,  sir — George,  sir." 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  39 

"Well,  August,  you  go  out  to  the  desk,  like  a  good 
fellow,  and  ask  the  secretary  to  arrange  for  a  com 
partment  for  me  to  New  Orleans  on  the  Gulf  States 
Limited,  leaving  at  ten  o'clock  to-morrow  night." 
He  handed  the  servant  his  card.  "Now  wait  a 
minute  until  I  write  something."  He  seized  the 
cable  blank,  helped  himself,  uninvited,  to  Neddy 
Jerome's  fountain  pen,  and  wrote: 

WILLIAM  H.  GEARY, 
Calle  de  Concordia  No.  19, 
Buenaventura, 
Sobrante,  C.  A. 

Salute,  you  young  jackass!  Just  received  your  letter. 
Cabling  thousand  for  emergency  roll  first  thing  to-morrow. 
Will  order  machinery.  Leaving  for  New  Orleans  to-morrow 
night,  to  arrive  Buenaventura  first  steamer.  Your  letter 
caught  me  with  a  hundred  thousand.  We  cut  it  two 
ways  and  take  our  chances.  Keep  a  light  in  the  window 
for  your  old 

JACK  PARDNER. 

"That's  a  windy  cablegram,"  Neddy  Jerome  re 
marked  as  the  servant  bore  it  away.  "Why  all  this 
garrulity?  A  cablegram  anywhere  generally  costs  at 
least  a  dollar  a  word." 

"  'That's  my  delight  of  a  shiny  night,  in  the  season 
of  the  year/  "  quoted  John  Stuart  Webster; "  and  why 
the  devil  economize  when  the  boy  needs  cheering 
up?" 

"What  boy?" 

"Billy  Geary." 


40  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Broke?" 

"I  should  say  so.     Rattles  when  he  walks." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Central  America." 

Neddy  Jerome  was  happy.  He  was  in  an  expan 
sive  mood,  for  he  had,  with  the  assistance  of  a  kindly 
fate,  rounded  up  the  one  engineer  in  all  the  world 
whom  he  needed  to  take  charge  of  the  Colorado  Con 
solidated.  So  he  said: 

"Well,  Jack,  just  to  celebrate  the  discovery  of  your 
old  pal,  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  O.  K  your 
voucher  for  the  expense  of  bringing  young  Geary 
back  to  the  U.  S.  A.,  and  when  we  get  him  here,  it 
will  be  up  to  you  to  find  a  snug  berth  for  him  with 
Colorado  Consolidated." 

"Neddy,"  said  John  Stuart  Webster,  "by  my  hali- 
dom,  I  love  thee.  You're  a  thoughtful,  kindly  old 
stick-in-the-mud,  but " 

"No  ifs  or  but's.  I'm  your  boss,"  Jerome  inter 
rupted,  and  waddled  away  to  telephone  the  head 
waiter  at  his  favourite  restaurant  to  reserve  a  table 
for  two. 

Mr.  Webster  sighed.  He  disliked  exceedingly  to 

disappoint  old  Neddy,  but ~~  He  shrank  from 

seeming  to  think  over-well  of  himself  by  declining 
a  twenty-five-thousand-dollar-a-year  job  with  the 
biggest  mining  company  in  Colorado,  but 

"Rotten  luck,"  he  soliloquized.  "It  runs  that 
way  for  a  while,  and  then  it  changes,  and  gets  worse!" 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

WHEN  Jerome  returned  to  his  seat,  the 
serious  look  in  Webster's  hitherto  laugh 
ing  eyes  challenged  his  immediate  attention. 
"Now  what's  gone  and  broken  loose?"  he  de 
manded. 

"Neddy,"  said  John  Stuart  Webster  gently,  "do 
you  remember  my  crossing  my  fingers  and  saying 
*  King's  X'  when  you  came  at  me  with  that  proposi 
tion  of  yours?" 

"Yes.  But  I  noticed  you  uncrossed  them  mighty 
quick  when  I  told  you  the  details  of  the  job.  You'll 
never  be  offered  another  like  it." 

"I  know,  Neddy,  I  know.  It  just  breaks  my 
heart  to  have  to  decline  it,  but  the  fact  of  the 
matter  is,  I  think  you'd  better  give  that  job  to  your 
brother  after  all.  At  any  rate,  I'm  not  going  to 
take  it." 

"  Why?  "  the  amazed  Jerome  demanded.  "Johnny, 
you're  crazy  in  the  head.  Of  course  you'll  take 
it." 

For  answer  Webster  handed  his  friend  the  letter 
he  had  just  received. 

"Read  that,  old  horse,  and  see  if  you  can't  work 
up  a  circulation,"  he  suggested. 

Jerome  adjusted  his  spectacles  and  read: 

41 


42  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Calle  de  Concordia  19, 
Buenaventura, 
Sobrante,  C.  A. 

DEAR  JOHN: 

I  would  address  you  as  "dear  friend  John,"  did  I  but 
possess  sufficient  courage.  In  my  heart  of  hearts  you  are 
still  that,  but  after  three  years  of  silence,  due  to  my 
stupidity  and  hardness  of  heart,  it  is,  perhaps,  better  to 
make  haste  slowly. 

To  begin,  I  should  like  to  be  forgiven,  on  the  broad 
general  grounds  that  I  am  most  almighty  sorry  for  what 
I  went  and  done!  Am  I  forgiven?  I  seem  to  see  your 
friendly  old  face  and  hear  you  answer  "Aye,"  and  with 
this  load  off  my  chest  at  last  I  believe  I  feel  better  already. 

I  did  not  know  until  very  recently  what  had  become  of 
you,  and  that  that  wretched  Cripple  Creek  business  had 
been  cleared  up  at  last.  I  met  a  steam-shovel  man  a 
month  or  two  ago  on  the  Canal.  He  used  to  be  a  machine- 
man  in  the  Portland  mine,  and  he  told  me  the  whole  story. 

Jack,  you  poor,  deluded  old  piece  of  white  meat,  do  you 
think  for  a  moment  that  I  held  against  you  your  testimony 
for  the  operators  in  Cripple  Creek?  You  will  never  know 
how  badly  it  broke  me  up  when  that  Canal  digger  sprung 
his  story  of  how  you  went  the  limit  for  my  measly  reputa 
tion  after  I  had  quit  the  company  in  disgrace.  Still,  it 
was  not  that  which  hurt  me  particularly.  I  thought  you 
believed  the  charges  and  that  you  testified  in  a  firm  belief 
that  I  was  the  guilty  man,  as  all  of  the  circumstantial 
evidence  seemed  to  indicate.  I  thought  this  for  three 
long,  meagre  years,  old  friend,  and  I'm  sorry.  After  that, 
I  suppose  there  isn't  any  need  for  me  to  say  more,  except 
that  you  are  an  old  fool  for  not  saying  you  were  going  to 
spend  your  money  and  your  time  and  reputation  trying  to 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  48 

put  my  halo  back  on  straight!    I  doubt  if  I  was  worth  it, 
and  you  knew  that;  but  let  it  pass,  for  we  have  other  fish  to 

fiy. 

The  nubbin  of  the  matter  is  this :  There  is  only  one  good 
gold  mine  left  in  this  weary  world — and  I  have  it.  It's  the 
sweetest  wildcat  lever  struck, and  we  stand  the  finest  show 
in  the  world  of  starving  to  death  if  we  tackle  it  without 
sufficient  capital  to  go  through.  (You  will  notice  that  I 
am  already — and  unconsciously — employing  the  plural 
pronoun.  How  rapidly  the  old  habits  return  with  the  old 
friendships  rehabilitated!)  It  will  take  at  least  thirty 
thousand  dollars,  and  we  ought  to  have  double  that  to 
play  safe.  I  do  not  know  whether  you  have,  or  can  raise, 
sixty  cents,  but  at  any  rate  I  am  going  to  put  the  buck  up 
to  you  and  you  can  take  a  look. 

Here  are  the  specifications.  Read  them  carefully  and 
then  see  if  there  is  anybody  in  the  U.  S.  A.  whom  you  can 
interest  to  the  tune  mentioned  above.  We  could  prob 
ably  get  by  with  thirty  thousand,  but  I  would  not  jeopar 
dize  anybody's  money  by  tackling  it  with  less. 

Jack,  I  have  a  mining  concession.  It  is  low-grade — a 
free-milling  gold  vein — twelve  feet  of  ore  between  good 
solid  walls  on  a  contact  between  Andesite  and  Silurian 
limestone.  The  ore  is  oxidized,  and  we  can  save  ninety 
per  cent,  of  the  values  on  amalgamating  plates  without 
concentrating  or  cyaniding  machinery.  I  have  had  my 
own  portable  assay  outfit  on  the  ground  for  a  month,  and 
you  can  take  my  opinion  for  what  it  is  worth  when  I 
assure  you  that  this  concession  is  a  winner,  providing  the 
money  is  forthcoming  with  which  to  handle  it. 

This  is  a  pretty  fair  country,  Jack — if  you  survive  long 
enough  to  get  used  to  it.  At  first  you  think  it's  Paradise; 
then  you  grow  to  hate  it  and  know  it  for  hell  with  the  lid 
off;  and  finally  all  your  early  love  for  it  returns  and  you 


44  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

become  what  I  am  now — a  tropical  tramp !  There  is  only 
one  social  stratum  lower  than  mine,  and  that's  the  tropical 
beachcomber.  I  am  not  that — yet;  and  will  not  be  if  my 
landlady  will  continue  to  listen  to  my  blandishments.  She 
is  a  sweet  soul,  with  a  divine  disposition,  and  I  am  duly 
grateful. 

I  would  tell  you  all  about  the  geography,  topography, 
flora  and  fauna  of  Sobrante,  but  you  can  ascertain  that  in 
detail  by  consulting  any  standard  encyclopedia.  Govern- 
mentally  the  country  is  similar  to  its  sister  republics.  The 
poor  we  have  always  with  us;  also  a  first-class,  colorado- 
maduro  despot  in  the  political  saddle,  and  it's  a  cold  day 
indeed  when  two  patriots,  two  viva's  and  a  couple  of  old 
Long  Tom  Springfield  rifles  cannot  upset  the  Sobrante 
apple  cart.  We  have  the  usual  Governmental  extrava 
gance  in  the  matter  of  statues  to  countless  departed  "liber 
ators"  in  all  the  public  squares,  and  money  is  no  object. 
It  is  depreciated  shin-plasters,  and  I  had  to  use  a  discarded 
sugar-barrel  to  hold  mine  when  I  arrived  and  changed  four 
hundred  pesos  oro  into  the  national  currency.  If  a  waiter 
brings  you  a  jolt  of  hooch,  you're  stingy  if  you  tip  him  less 
than  a  Sobrante  dollar. 

We  have  a  Malicon  along  the  bay  shore  and  back  again, 
with  a  municipal  bandstand  in  the  middle  thereof,  upon 
which  the  fine  city  band  of  Buenaventura  plays  nightly 
those  languid  Spanish  melodies  that  must  have  descended 
to  us  from  the  Inquisition.  If  you  can  spare  the  cash,  send 
me  a  bale  of  the  latest  New  York  rags  and  a  banjo,  and  I'll 
start  something.  I  have  nothing  else  to  do  until  I  hear 
from  you,  save  shake  dice  at  The  Frenchman's  with  the 
Presidente,  wh^  has  nothing  else  to  do  except  lap  up  high 
balls  and  wait  for  the  next  drawing  of  the  lottery.  I  asked 
him  for  a  job  to  tide  me  over  temporarily,  and  he  offered 
me  a  portfolia!  I  could  have  been  Minister  of  Finance! 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  45 

I  declined,  from  a  constitutional  inability,  inherent  in  the 
Irish,  to  assimilate  a  joke  from  a  member  of  an  inferior 
race. 

We  haven't  had  a  revolution  for  nearly  six  months,  but 
we  have  hopes. 

There,  are  some  white  men  here,  neither  better  nor  worse. 
We  tolerate  each  other. 

I  am  addressing  you  at  the  Engineers'  Club,  in  the  hope 
that  my  letter  may  reach  you  there,  or  perhaps  the  secre 
tary  will  know  your  address  and  forward  it  to  you.  If 
you  are  foot-loose  and  still  entertain  a  lingering  regard 
for  your  old  pal,  get  busy  on  this  mining  concession  P.  D.  Q. 
Time  is  the  essence  of  the  contract,  because  I  am  holding  on 
to  the  thin  edge  of  nothing,  and  if  we  have  a  change  of 
government  I  may  lose  even  that.  I  need  you,  John 
Stuart  Webster,  worse  than  I  need  salvation.  I  enclose 
you  a  list  of  equipment  required. 

If  you  receive  this  letter  and  can  do  anything  for  me, 
please  cable.  If  you  cannot,  please  cable  anyway.  It  is 
needless  for  me  to  state  that  the  terms  of  division  are  as 
you  make  them,  although  I  think  fifty-fifty  would  place  us 
both  on  Easy  Street  for  the  rest  of  our  days.  Do  let  me 
hear  from  you,  Jack,  if  only  to  tell  me  the  old  entente 
cordiale  still  exists.  I  know  now  that  I  was  considerable 
of  a  heedless  pup  a  few  years  ago  and  overlooked  my  hand 
quite  regularly,  but  now  that  I  have  a  good  thing  I  do  not 
know  of  anybody  with  whom  I  care  to  share  it  except 
your  own  genial  self.  Please  let  me  hear  from  you. 

Affectionately, 

BILLY. 

Jerome  finished  reading  this  remarkable  com 
munication;  then  with  infinite  amusement  he  re 
garded  John  Stuart  Webster  over  the  tops  of  his 


46  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

glasses  as  one  who  examines  a  new  and  interesting 
species  of  bug. 

"So  Billy  loves  that  dear  Sobrante,  eh?"  he  said 
with  abysmal  sarcasm.  "Jack  Webster,  listen  to  a 
sane  man  and  be  guided  accordingly.  I  was  in  this 
same  little  Buenaventura  once.  I  was  there  for 
three  days,  and  I  wouldn't  have  been  there  three 
minutes  if  I  could  have  caught  a  steamer  out  sooner. 
Of  all  the  miserable,  squalid,  worthless,  ornery,  stink 
ing  holes  on  the  face  of  God's  green  footstool,  So 
brante  is  the  worst — if  one  may  judge  it  by  its  capital 
city.  Jack,  there  is  an  old  bromide  that  describes 
aptly  the  republic  of  Sobrante,  and  it's  so  trite  I 
hesitate  to  repeat  it — but  I  will,  for  your  benefit. 
Sobrante  is  a  country  where  the  flowers  are  without 
fragrance,  the  men  without  honour,  and  the  women 
without  virtue.  It  is  hot  and  unhealthy,  and  the 
mosquitoes  wear  breechclouts;  and  when  they  bite 
you,  you  die.  You  get  mail  three  times  a  month, 
and  there  isn't  a  white  man  in  the  whole  Roman- 
candle  republic  that  a  gentleman  would  associate 
with." 

"You  forget  Billy  Geary,"  Webster  reminded  him 
gently. 

"He's  a  boy.  What  does  his  judgment  amount 
to?  Are  you  going  to  chase  off  to  this  God-forsaken 
fever-hole  at  the  behest  of  a  lad  scarcely  out  of  his 
swaddling  clothes?  Jack  Webster,  surely  you  aren't 
going  to  throw  yourself  away — give  up  the  sure  thing 
I  offer  you — to  join  Billy  Geary  in  Sobrante  and 
finance  a  wildcat  prospect  without  a  certificate  of 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  47 

title  attached.  Why,  Jack,  my  dear  boy,  don't  you 
know  that  if  you  develop  your  mine  to-morrow  and 
get  it  paying  well,  the  first  *  liberator'  may  take  it 
away  from  you  or  tax  you  for  the  entire  output?" 

"  We'll  have  government  protection,  Neddy.  This 
will  be  American  capital,  and  if  they  get  fresh,  our 
Uncle  Sam  can  send  a  warship,  can't  he?  " 

"He  can — but  he  won't.  Are  you  and  Billy 
Geary  of  sufficient  importance  at  home  or  abroad  to 
warrant  the  vast  consumption  of  coal  necessary  to 
send  a  battleship  to  protect  your  dubious  prospect- 
hole?  Be  reasonable.  What  did  you  wire  that  con 
founded  boy?" 

"That  I  was  coming." 

"Cable  him  you've  changed  your  mind.  We'll 
send  him  some  money  to  come  home,  and  you  can 
give  him  a  good  job  under  you.  I'll  O.  K.  the 
voucher  and  charge  it  to  your  personal  expense 
account." 

"That's  nice  of  you,  old  sport,  and  I  thank  you 
kindly.  I'll  talk  to  Billy  when  I  arrive  in  Buenaven 
tura,  and  if  the  prospect  doesn't  look  good  to  me,  I'll 
argue  him  out  of  it  and  we'll  come  home." 

"But  I  want  you  now.  I  don't  want  you  to  go 
away." 

"You  promised  me  thirty  days  in  which  to  have  a 
good  time " 

"So  I  did.  But  is  this  having  a  good  time?  How 
about  that  omelette  souffle  all  blazing  with  blue  fire, 
and  that  shower-bath  and  the  opera  and  mushing 
through  the  art  centres,  and  Sousa's  band " 


48  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"  They  have  a  band  down  in  Buenaventura.  Billy 
says  so." 

"It  plays  'La  Paloma'  and  'Sobre  las  Olas'  and 
'La  Golondrina'  and  all  the  rest  of  them.  Jack, 
you'll  go  crazy  listening  to  it." 

"Oh,  I  don't  want  any  omelette  souffle,  and  I  had 
a  bath  before  I  left  the  hotel.  I  was  just  hearing 
myself  talk,  Neddy,"  the  culprit  protested  weakly. 
"Let  me  go.  I  might  come  back.  But  I  must  go. 
I  want  to  see  Billy." 

"  You  just  said  a  minute  ago  you'd  turned  the  forty- 
year  post,"  Jerome  warned  him.  "And  you're  now 
going  to  lose  a  year  or  two  more  in  which  you  might 
better  be  engaged  laying  up  a  foundation  of  indepen 
dence  for  your  old  age.  You  will  get  out  of  Sobrante 
with  the  price  of  a  second-class  ticket  on  a  vile  fruit 
boat,  and  you'll  be  back  here  panhandling  around  for 
a  job  at  a  quarter  of  what  I  am  offering  you.  For 
Heaven's  sake,  man,  don't  be  a  fool." 

"Oh,  but  I  will  be  a  fool,"  John  Stuart  Webster 
answered;  and  possibly,  by  this  time,  the  reader  has 
begun  to  understand  the  potency  of  his  middle  name 
—the  Scotch  are  notoriously  pig-headed,  and  Mr. 
Webster  had  just  enough  oatmeal  in  his  blood  to  have 
come  by  that  centre-fire  name  honestly.  "And  you, 
you  poor  old  horse,  you  could  not  possibly  understand 
why,  if  you  lived  to  be  a  million  years  old." 

He  got  up  from  his  chair  to  the  full  height  of  his 
six-feet-one,  and  stretched  one  hundred  and  ninety 
pounds  of  bone  and  muscle. 

"And  so  I  shall  go  to  Sobrante  and  lose  fill  of  this 


AVEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  49 

all-important  money,  shall  I?"  he  jeered.  "Then, 
by  all  the  gods  of  the  Open  Country,  I  hope  I  may! 
Old  man,  you  have  browsed  through  a  heap  of  litera 
ture  in  your  day,  but  I  doubt  if  it  has  done  you  any 
good.  Permit  me  to  map  out  a  course  of  reading  for 
you.  Get  a  copy  of  *  Paradise  Lost*  and  another  of 
*  Cyrano  de  Bergerac.'  In  the  former  you  will  find  a 
line  running  somewhat  thusly :  *  What  tho'  the  cause 
be  lost,  all  is  not  lost!'  And  in  the  immortal  work 
of  Monsieur  Rostand,  let  me  recommend  one  little 
page — about  fifteen  lines.  Read  them,  old  money- 
grubber,  and  learn!  On  second  thought,  do  not  read 
them.  Those  lines  would  only  be  wasted  on  you, 
for  you  have  become  afflicted  with  hypertrophy  of 
the  acquisitive  sense,  which  thins  the  blood,  dwarfs 
the  understanding,  stunts  the  perception  of  relative 
values,  and  chills  the  feet. 

"Let  me  foretell  your  future  for  the  next  twenty 
years,  Neddy.  You  will  spend  about  forty  per  cent. 
of  your  time  in  this  lounging-room,  thirty  per  cent, 
of  it  in  piling  up  a  bank-roll,  out  of  which  you  will 
glean  no  particular  enjoyment,  and  the  remaining 
thirty  per  cent,  you  will  spend  in  bed.  And  then 
some  bright  morning  your  heart-beat  will  slow  down 
almost  imperceptibly,  and  the  House  Committee 
will  order  a  wreath  of  autumn  leaves  hung  just  above 
Number  Four  domino  table,  and  it  will  remain  there 
until  the  next  annual  house-cleaning,  when  some 
swamper  will  say,  'What  the  devil  is  this  stuff  here 
for?'  and  forthwith  he  will  tear  it  down  and  consign 
it  to  the  fireplace." 


50  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Ba-a-h,"  growled  Jerome. 

"The  truth  hurts,  I  know,"  Webster  pursued  re 
lentlessly,  "  but  hear  me  to  the  bitter  end.  And  then 
presently  shall  enter  the  club  no  less  a  personage  than 
young  John  Stuart  Webster,  even  as  he  entered  it 
to-day.  He  will  be  smelling  of  country  with  the  hair 
on,  and  he  will  glance  toward  Table  Number  Four 
and  murmur  sympathetically:  'Poor  old  Jerome! 
I  knowed  him  good ! '  Did  I  hear  you  say  '  Huh ! '  just 
then?  I  thank  thee  for  teaching  me  that  word. 
Take  careful  note  and  see  I  use  it  correctly — 'Huh  /' 

"Dad  burn  you,  Neddy,  I'm  not  a  Methuselah. 
I  want  some  fun  in  life.  I  want  to  fight  and  be 
broke  and  go  hungry  and  then  make  money  for  the 
love  of  making  it  and  spending  it,  and  I  want  to  live 
a  long  time  yet.  I  have  a  constitutional  weakness 
for  foregathering  with  real  he-men,  doing  real  he- 
things,  and  if  I'm  to  be  happy,  I'll  just  naturally  have 
to  be  the  he-est  of  the  whole  confounded  pack!  I 
want  to  see  the  mirage  across  the  sagebrush  and  hear 
it  whisper:  *  Hither,  John  Stuart  Webster!  Hither, 
you  fool,  and  I'll  hornswaggle  you  again,  as  in  an 
elder  day  I  horn,s waggled  you  before."' 

Jerome  shook  his  white  thatch  hopelessly. 

"I  thought  you  were  a  great  mining  engineer, 
John,"  he  said  sadly,  "but  you're  not.  You're  a 
poet.  You  do  not  seem  to  care  for  money." 

"Well,"  Webster  retorted  humorously,  "it  isn't 
exactly  what  you  might  term  a  ruling  passion.  I  like 
to  make  it,  but  there's  more  fun  spending  it.  I've 
made  a  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  now  I  want 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  51 

to  go  blow  it — and  I'm  going  to.  Do  not  try  to  argue 
with  me.  I'm  a  lunatic  and  I  will  have  my  way.  If  I 
didn't  go  tearing  off  to  Sobrante  and  join  forces  with 
Billy  Geary,  there  to  play  the  game,  red  or  black,  I'd 
feel  as  if  I  had  done  something  low  and  mean  and 
small.  The  boy's  appealed  to  me,  and  I  have  made 
my  answer.  If  I  come  back  alive  but  broke,  you 
know  in  your  heart  you'll  give  me  the  best  job  you 
have." 

"You  win,"  poor  Jerome  admitted. 

"Hold  the  job  open  thirty  days.  At  the  end  of 
that  period  I'll  give  you  a  definite  answer,  Neddy." 

"There  is  no  Balm  in  Gilead,"  Jerome  replied 
sadly.  "Blessed  are  they  that  expect  nothing,  for 
they  shall  not  be  disappointed." 

"It's  six-thirty,"  Webster  suggested.  "Let's  eat. 
Last  call  for  that  omelette  souffle,  and  we'll  go  to  a 
show  afterward.  By  the  way,  Neddy,  how  do  you 
like  this  suit?  Fellow  in  Salt  Lake  built  it  for  me — 
ninety  bucks!" 

But  Jerome  was  not  interested  in  clothing  and 
similar  foolishness.  He  only  knew  that  he  had  lost 
the  services  of  a  mining  engineer  for  whom  he  had 
searched  the  country  for  a  month.  He  rose,  dusting 
the  cigar  ashes  from  his  vest,  and  followed  sulkily. 

Despite  the  evidences  of  "grouch"  which  Jerome 
brought  to  the  dinner  table  with  John  Stuart  Web 
ster,  he  was  not  proof  against  the  latter's  amaz 
ing  vitality  and  boundless  good  spirits.  The  sheer 
weight  of  the  Websterian  optimism  and  power  of 
enjoying  simple  things  swept  all  of  Jerome's  an- 


52  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

noyance  from  him  as  a  brisk  breeze  dissipates  the 
low-lying  fog  that  hides  a  pleasant  valley,  and  ere  the 
second  cocktail  had  made  its  appearance,  the  presi 
dent  of  the  Colorado  Consolidated  Mines  Company, 
Limited,  was  doing  his  best  to  help  Webster  enjoy 
this  one  perfect  night  snatched  from  the  grim  proces 
sional  of  sunrise  and  sunset  that  had  passed  since  last 
he  had  dallied  with  the  fleshpots — that  were  to  pass 
ere  he  should  dally  with  them  again  according  to  his 
peculiar  nature  and  inclination. 

Lovingly,  lingeringly,  Mr.  Webster  picked  his  way 
through  the  hors  d'wuvres,  declared  against  the  soup 
as  too  filling,  mixed  the  salad  after  a  recipe  of  his  own, 
served  it  and  consumed  it  prior  to  the  advent  of  the 
entree,  which  if  not  the  fashion  in  the  West,  at  pres 
ent,  has  not  as  yet  gone  entirely  out  of  fashion.  He 
revelled  in  breast  of  pheasant,  with  asparagus  tips, 
and  special  baked  potato;  he  thrilled  with  champagne 
at  twelve  dollars  the  quart,  and  a  tender  light  came 
into  his  quizzical  glance  at  sight  of  a  brick  of  ice 
cream  in  four  colours;  he  cheered  for  the  omelette 
souffle.  In  the  end  he  demanded  a  tiny  cheese  fit  for 
active  service,  cracked  himself  a  peck  of  assorted 
nuts,  and  with  a  pot  of  black  coffee  and  the  best 
cigars  possible  of  purchase  in  Denver,  he  leaned  back 
at  his  ease  and  forgot  the  theatre  in  the  long-denied 
delight  of  yarning  with  his  old  friend. 

At  one  o'clock  next  morning  they  were  still  seated 
in  the  cosy  grill,  smoking  and  talking.  Jerome 
looked  at  his  watch. 

"Great  grief,  Johnny!"  he  declared.      "I  must 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  53 

be  trotting  along.  Haven't  been  out  this  late  in 
years." 

"It's  the  shank  of  the  evening,  Neddy,"  Webster 
pleaded,  "and  I'm  hungry  again.  We'll  have  a  nice 
broiled  lobster,  with  drawn  butter — eh,  Ned?  And 
another  quart  of  that  '98?" 

"My  liver  would  never  stand  it.  I'd  be  in  bed  for 
a  week,"  Jerome  protested.  "See  you  at  the  club 
to-morrow  afternoon  before  you  leave,  I  presume." 

"If  I  get  through  with  my  shopping  in  time," 
Webster  answered,  and  reluctantly  abandoning  the 
lobster  and  accessories,  he  accompanied  Jerome  to 
the  door  and  saw  him  safely  into  a  taxicab. 

"Sure  you  won't  think  it  over,  Jack,  and  give  up 
this  crazy  proposition?"  he  pleaded  at  parting. 

Webster  shook  his  head.  "I  sniff  excitement  and 
adventure  and  profit  in  Sobrante,  Neddy,  and  I've 
just  got  to  go  look-see.  I'm  like  an  old  burro  staked 
out  knee-deep  in  alfalfa  just  now.  I  won't  take 
kindly  to  the  rjack " 

"And  like  an  old  burro,  you  won't  be  happy  until 
you've  sneaked  through  a  hole  in  the  fence  to  get  out 
into  a  stubble-field  and  starve."  Jerome  swore  half 
heartedly  and  promulgated  the  trite  proverb  that 
life  is  just  one  blank  thing  after  the  other — an  in 
choate  mass  of  liver  and  disappointment! 

"Do  you  find  it  so?"  Webster  queried  sympatheti 
cally. 

Suspecting  that  he  was  being  twitted,  Jerome 
looked  up  sharply,  prepared  to  wither  Webster  with 
that  glance.  But  no,  the  man  was  absolutely  serious ; 


54  WEGSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

whereupon  Jerome  realized  the  futility  of  further 
argument  and  gave  John  Stuart  Webster  up  for  a 
total  loss.  Still,  he  could  not  help  smiling  as  he 
reflected  how  Webster  had  planned  a  year  of  quiet- 
enjoyment  and  Fate  had  granted  him  one  brief 
evening.  He  marvelled  that  Webster  could  be  so 
light-hearted  and  contented  under  the  circumstances. 

Webster  read  his  thoughts.  "Good-bye,  old 
man,"  he  said,  and  extended  his  hand.  "Don't 
worry  about  me.  Allah  is  always  kind  to  fools,  my 
friend;  sorrow  is  never  their  portion.  I've  led  rather 
a  humdrum  life.  I've  worked  hard  and  never  had  any 
fun  or  excitement  to  speak  of,  and  in  answering 
Billy's  call  I  have  a  feeling  that  I  am  answering  the 
call  of  a  great  adventure." 

He  did  not  know  how  truly  he  spoke,  of  course, 
but  if  he  had,  that  knowledge  would  not  have 
changed  his  answer. 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

A   •   AHlS  morning  following  his  decision  to  play  the 
I      role  of  angel  to  Billy  Geary's  mining  conces- 

-••  sion  in  Sobrante,  John  Stuart  Webster,  like 
Mr.  Pepys,  was  up  betimes. 

Nine  o'clock  found  him  in  the  office  of  his  friend 
Joe  Daingerfield,  of  the  Bingham  Engineering  Works, 
where,  within  the  hour,  he  had  in  his  characteristi 
cally  decisive  fashion  purchased  the  machinery  for  a 
ten-stamp  mill  and  an  electric  light  plant  capab1 
of  generating  two  hundred  and  fifty  horsepower  \\tft 
electric  hoists  with  cable,  half  a  dozen  sfcel  ore- 
buckets,  as  many  more  ore-cars  with  five  h 
of  rail,  a  blacksmithing  outfit,  a  pump   Wefrett,  Skecf- 
steel  to  line  the  crushing-bins  ar  I  Wm  <z\\cv'. 
platforms  for  the  ore  in  the  wo:<f '      :     picks,  «3J 
drills,  and  so  forth.    It  was  a  nice      ie  r,  an«l  Jjb 
field  was  delighted. 

"This  is  going  to  cost  you  about  Kelt  Voar  for 
tune,  Jack,"  he  informed  Webster  when  u  u  order  was 
finally  made  up. 

Webster  grinned.  "  You  don't  suppose  I'm  chump 
enough  to  pay  for  it  now,  do  you,  Joe?"  he  queried. 

"You'll  pay  at  least  half,  my  son.  We  love  you, 
Jack;  we  honour  and  respect  you;  but  this  stuff  is 
going  to  Central  America,  and  in  the  event  of  your 

55 


56  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

premature  demise,  we  might  not  get  it  back.  They 
have  wars  down  there,  you  know,  and  when  those 
people  are  war-mad,  they  destroy  things." 

"I  know.  But  I'm  going  first  to  scout  the  coun 
try,  Joe,  and  in  the  meantime  keep  all  this  stuff  in 
your  warehouse  until  I  authorize  you  by  cable  to 
ship,  when  you  can  draw  on  me  at  sight  for  the  entire 
invoice  with  bill  of  lading  attached.  If,  upon  in 
vestigation,  I  find  that  this  mine  isn't  all  my  partner 
thinks  it  is,  I'll  cable  a  cancellation,  and  you  can 
tear  that  nice  fat  order  up  and  forget  it.  I  don't 
intend  to  have  you  and  that  gang  of  penny-pinching 
card-room  engineers  up  at  the  Engineers'  Club  re 
mind  me  of  the  old  adage  that  a  fool  and  his  money 
are  soon  parted." 

From  Daingerfield's  office  Webster  went  forth  to 
purchase  a  steamer-trunk,  his  railway  ticket  and 
sleeping-car  reservation — after  which  he  returned  to 
his  hotel  and  set  about  packing  for  the  journey. 

He  sighed  regretfully  as  he  folded  his  brand-new 
raiment,  packed  it  in  moth  balls  in  his  wardrobe- 
trunk,  and  ordered  the  trunk  sent  to  a  storage  ware 
house. 

"Well,  I  was  a  giddy  old  bird  of  paradise  for  one 
night,  at  least,"  he  comforted  himself,  as  he  dressed 
instead  in  a  suit  of  light-weight  olive  drab  goods  in 
which  he  hoped  to  enjoy  some  measure  of  cool 
comfort  until  he  should  reach  Buenaventura  and 
thus  become  acquainted  with  the  foibles  of  fashion 
in  that  tropical  centre. 

The  remainder  of  the  afternoon  he  spent  among  his 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  57 

old  friends  of  the  Engineers'  Club,  who  graciously 
tendered  him  a  dollar  table  d'hote  dinner  that  even 
ing  and  saw  him  off  for  his  train  at  ten  o'clock,  with 
many  a  gloomy  prophecy  as  to  his  ultimate  destiny 
— the  prevailing  impression  appearing  to  be  that  he 
would  return  to  them  in  a  neat  long  box  labelled: 
This  Side  Up—With  Care— Use  No  Hooks. 

Old  Neddy  Jerome,  as  sour  and  cross  as  a  setting 
hen,  accompanied  him  in  the  taxicab  to  the  station, 
loth  to  let  him  escape  and  pleading  to  the  last,  in  a 
forlorn  hope  that  Jack  Webster's  better  nature  would 
triumph  over  his  friendship  and  boyish  yearning 
for  adventure.  He  clung  to  Webster's  arm  as  they 
walked  slowly  down  the  track  and  paused  at  the 
steps  of  the  car  containing  the  wanderer's  reserva 
tion,  just  as  a  porter,  carrying  some  hand-baggage, 
passed  them  by,  followed  by  a  girl  in  a  green  tailor- 
made  suit.  As  she  passed,  John  Stuart  Webster 
looked  fairly  into  her  face,  started  as  if  bee-stung,  and 
hastily  lifted  his  hat.  The  girl  briefly  returned  his 
scrutiny  with  sudden  interest,  decided  she  did  not 
know  him,  and  reproved  him  with  a  glance  that  even 
passe  old  Neddy  Jerome  did  not  fail  to  assimilate. 

"  Wow,  wow ! "  he  murmured.  "  The  next  time  you 
try  that,  Johnny  WTebster,  be  sure  you're  right— 

"Good  land  o'  Goshen,  Neddy,"  Webster  replied. 
"Fry  me  in  bread-crumbs,  if  that  isn't  the  same  girl! 
Come  to  think  of  it,  the  conductor  who  gave  me  her 
name  told  me  her  ticket  called  for  a  stop-over  in 
Denver!  Let  me  go,  Neddy.  Quick!  Good-bye, 
old  chap.  I'm  on  my  way." 


58  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Nonsense!  The  train  doesn't  pull  out  for  seven 
minutes  yet.  Who  is  she,  John,  and  why  does  she 
excite  you  so?"  Jerome  recognized  in  his  whimsical 
friend  the  symptoms  of  a  most  unusual  malady — 
with  Webster — and  so  he  held  the  patient  fast  by  the 
arm. 

"Who  is  she,  you  ancient  horse-thief?  Why,  if  I 
have  my  way — and  I'm  certainly  going  to  try  to 
have  it — she's  the  future  Mrs.  W." 

"Alas!  Poor  Yorick,  I  knowed  him  well,"  Jerome 
answered.  "Take  a  tip  from  the  old  man,  John. 
I've  been  through  the  mill  and  I  know.  Never  mrrry 
a  girl  that  can  freeze  you  with  a  glance.  It  isn't  safe, 
and  remember,  you're  not  as  young  as  you  used  to  be. 
By  the  way,  what's  the  fair  charmer's  name?'* 

"I've  got  it  down  in  my  memorandum  book,  but  I 
can't  recall  it  this  minute — Sparish  name." 

"John,  my  dear  boy,  be  careful,"  Neddy  Jerome 
counseled.  "  Stick  to  your  own  kind  of  people 

"I'll  not.  That  girl  is  as  trim  and  neat  and  beauti 
ful  as  a  newly  minted  guinea.  What  do  I  want  with 
a  Scotch  lassie  six  feet  tall  and  a  believer  in  hell-fire 
and  infant  damnation?" 

"Is  this — a — er — a  nice  girl,  John?" 

" How  do  I  know — I  mean,  how  dare  you  ask?  Of 
course  she's  nice.  Can't  you  see  she  is?  And  be 
sides,  why  should  you  be  so  fearful " 

"I'll  have  you  understand,  young  man,  that  I 
have  considerable  interest  in  the  girl  you're  going  to 
marry.  Drat  it,  boy,  if  you  marry  the  wrong  girl 
she  may  interfere  with  my  plans.  She  may  be  a 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  59 

spoil-sport  and  not  want  to  live  up  at  the  mine — after 
you  return  from  this  wild-goose  chase,  dragging  your 
fool  tail  behind  you.  By  the  way,  where  did  you 
first  meet  this  girl?  Who  introduced  you?" 

"I  haven't  met  her,  and  I've  never  been  intro 
duced,"  Webster  complained,  and  poured  forth  the 
tale  of  his  adventure  on  the  train  from  Death  Valley. 
Neddy  was  very  sympathetic. 

"Well,  no  wonder  she  didn't  recognize  you  when 
you  saluted  her  to-night,"  he  agreed.  "Thought 
you  were  another  brute  of  a  man  trying  to  make  a 
mash.  By  thunder,  Jack,  I'm  afraid  you  made  a 
mistake  when  you  shed  your  whiskers  and  buried 
your  old  clothes.  You  don't  look  nearly  so  pic 
turesque  and  romantic  now,  and  maybe  she'll  refuse 
to  believe  you're  the  same  man!" 

"I  don't  care  what  she  thinks.  I  found  her,  I 
lost  her,  and  I've  found  her  again;  and  I'm  not  going 
to  take  any  further  chances.  I  wired  a  detective 
agency  to  pick  her  up  in  Salt  Lake  and  trail  her  to 
New  Orleans  and  get  me  all  the  dope  on  her,  while  I 
was  in  temporary  retirement  with  my  black  eye. 
Brainless  fellows,  these  amateur  detectives.  I'll 
never  employ  one  again.  I  described  her  accurately 
— told  them  she  was  beautiful  and  that  she  was  wear 
ing  a  green  tailor-made  suit;  and  will  you  believe  me, 
Neddy,  they  reported  to  me  next  day  that  their 
operative  failed  to  pick  her  up  at  the  station?  He 
said  three  beautiful  women  got  off  the  train  there, 
and  that  none  of  them  wore  a  green  dress." 

"Well,  it's  just  barely  possible  she  may  have  an- 


60  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

other  dress,"  Jerome  retorted  slyly.  "Women  are 
funny  that  way.  They  change  their  dresses  about 
as  often  as  they  change  their  minds." 

"Why,  that's  so,"  Webster  answered  innocently. 
"I  never  thought  of  that," 

The  porter,  having  delivered  his  charge's  baggage 
in  her  section,  was  returning  for  another  tip.  Web 
ster  reached  out  and  accosted  him. 

"Henry,"  he  said,  "do  you  want  to  earn  a  dollar?" 

"Yes,  sah.     Yes  indeed,  sah.  ' 

"Where  did  you  stow  that  young  lady's  hand- 
baggage?" 

"Lower  Six,  Car  Nine,  sah." 

"I  have  a  weakness  for  coloured  boys  who  are  quick 
at  figures,"  Webster  declared,  and  dismissed  the 
porter  with  the  gratuity.  He  turned  to  Jerome. 
"Neddy,  I  feel  that  I  am  answering  the  call  to  a  great 
adventure,"  he  declared  solemnly. 

"I  know  it,  Jack.  Good-bye,  son,  and  God  bless 
you.  If  your  fit  of  insanity  passes  within  ninety 
days,  cable  me;  and  if  you're  broke,  stick  the  Colo 
rado  Con'  for  the  cable  tolls." 

"  Good  old  wagon ! "  Webster  replied  affectionately. 
Then  he  shook  hands  and  climbed  aboard  the  train. 
The  instant  he  disappeared  in  the  vestibule,  how 
ever,  Neddy  Jerome  waddled  rapidly  down  the 
track  to  Car  Nine,  climbed  aboard,  and  made  his  way 
to  Lower  Six.  The  young  lady  in  the  green  tailor- 
made  suit  was  there,  looking  idly  out  the  window. 

"Young  lady,"  Jerome  began,  "may  I  presume  to 
address  you  for  a  moment  on  a  matter  of  very  great 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  1? 

importance  to  you?  Don't  be  afraid  of  me,  my  dear. 
I'm  old  enough  to  be  your  father,  and  besides,  I'm 
one  of  the  nicest  old  men  you  ever  met." 

She  could  not  forbear  a  smile.  "Very  well,  sir," 
she  replied. 

Neddy  Jerome  produced  a  pencil  and  card. 
"Please  write  your  name  on  this  card,"  he  pleaded, 
"and  I'll  telegraph  what  I  want  to  say  to  you. 
There'll  be  a  man  coming  through  this  car  in  a 
minute,  and  I  don't  want  him  to  see  me  here — besides 
which,  the  train  leaves  in  half  a  minute,  and  I  live  in 
Denver  and  make  it  a  point  to  be  home  and  in  bed 
not  later  than  ten  each  night.  Please  trust  me, 
young  lady." 

The  young  lady  did  not  trust  him,  however,  al 
though  she  wrote  on  the  card.  Jerome  thanked  her 
and  fled  as  fast  as  his  fat  old  legs  could  carry  him. 
Under  the  station  arc  he  read  the  card. 

"'Henrietta  Wilkins,'"  he  murmured.  "By  the 
gods,  one  would  never  suspect  a  name  like  that  be 
longed  to  a  face  like  that.  I  know  that  name  is 
going  to  jar  Jack  and  cause  him  to  seethe  with  am 
bition  to  change  it.  He'll  trim  the  Henrietta  down 
to  plain  Retta,  and  change  Wilkins  to  Webster  !  By 
jingo,  it  would  be  strange  if  that  madman  persuaded 
her  to  marry  him.  I  hope  he  does.  If  I'm  any 
judge  of  character,  Jack  Webster  won't  be  cruel 
enough  to  chain  that  vision  to  Sobrante;  and  besides, 
she's  liable  to  make  him  decide  who's  most  popular 
with  him — Henrietta  or  Billy  Geary.  If  she  does, 
I'll  play  Geary  to  lose.  However,  if  that  confirmed 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

old  bachelor  wants  to  chase  rainbows,  I  might  as  well 
help  him  out,  since  whichever  way  the  cat  jumps  I 
can't  lose.  It's  to  my  interest  to  have  him  marry 
that  girl,  or  any  girl,  for  that  matter,  because  she'll 
have  something  to  say  about  the  advisability  of 
kicking  aside  what  amounts,  approximately,  to 
thirty  thousand  a  year,  in  order  to  sink  the  family 
bankroll  in  a  wildcat  mine  in  the  suburbs  of  hell. 
Well!  Needs  must  when  the  devil  drives."  And  he 
entered  the  station  telegraph  office  and  commenced 
to  write. 

An  hour  later  Miss  Dolores  Ruey,  alias  Henrietta 
Wilkins,  was  handed  this  remarkably  verbose  and 
truly  candid  telegram: 

Denver,  Colo.,  Aug.  7,  1913. 
Miss  HENRIETTA  WILKINS, 
Lower  6,  Car  9, 
On  board  train  24. 

Do  you  recall  the  bewhiskered,  ragged  individual  you 
met  on  the  S.P.,  L.A.  &  S.L.  train  in  Death  Valley  ten 
days  ago?  He  thrashed  a  man  who  annoyed  you,  but 
owing  to  a  black  eye  and  his  generally  unpresentable  ap 
pearance,  he  remained  in  his  stateroom  the  remainder  of 
the  trip  and  you  did  not  see  him  again  until  to-night.  He 
lifted  his  hat  to  you  to-night,  and  you  almost  killed  him 
with  a  look.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  you  would  not 
recognize  him  disguised  as  a  gentleman,  and  he  lifted  his 
hat  on  impulse.  Do  not  hold  it  against  him.  The  sight 
of  you  again  set  his  reason  tottering  on  its  throne,  and 
he  told  me  his  sad  story. 

This  man,  John  Stuart  Webster,  is  wealthy,  single,  forty, 
fine,  and  crazy  as  a  March  hare.  He  is  in  love  with  you. 


WEBSTEL  -MAN'S  MAN  63 

You  might  do  worse  than  fall  in  love  with  him.  He  is  the 
best  mining  engineer  in  the  world,  and  he  is  now  aboard 
the  same  train  with  you,  en  route  to  New  Orleans,  thence 
to  take  the  steamer  to  Buenaventura,  Sobrante,  C.  A., 
where  he  is  to  meet  another  lunatic  and  finance  a  hole  in 
the  ground.  He  has  just  refused  a  thirty-thousand-dollar- 
a-year  job  from  me  to  answer  the  call  of  a  mistaken  friend 
ship.  I  do  not  want  him  to  go  to  Sobrante.  If  you  marry 
him,  he  will  not.  If  you  do  not  marry  him,  you  still 
might  arrange  to  make  him  listen  to  reason.  If  you  can 
induce  him  to  come  to  work  for  me  within  the  next  ninety 
days,  whether  you  marry  him  or  not,  I  will  give  you  five 
thousand  dollars  the  day  he  reports  on  the  job.  Please 
bear  in  mind  that  he  does  not  know  I  am  doing  this.  If 
he  did,  he  would  kill  me,  but  business  is  business,  and  this  is 
a  plain  business  proposition.  I  am  putting  you  wise,  so 
you  will  know  your  power  and  can  exercise  it  if  you  care  to 
earn  the  money.  If  not,  please  forget  about  it.  At  any 
rate,  please  do  me  the  favour  to  communicate  with  me  on 
the  subject,  if  at  all  interested. 

EDWARD  P.  JEROME. 

President  Colorado  Consolidated 
Mines,  Limited. 

Care  Engineers'  Club. 

The  girl  read  and  reread  this  telegram  several 
times,  and  presently  a  slow  little  smile  commenced 
to  creep  around  the  corners  of  her  adorable  mouth, 
for  out  of  the  chaos  of  emotions  induced  by  Ned 
Jerome's  amazing  proposition,  the  humour  of  the 
situation  had  detached  itself  to  the  elimination  of 
everything  else. 

"I  believe  that  amazing  old  gentleman  is  absolutely 


64  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

dependable,"  was  the  decision  at  which  she  ultimately 
arrived,  and  calling  for  a  telegraph  blank,  she  wired 
the  old  schemer: 

Five  thousand  not  enough  money.  Make  it  ten  thou 
sand  and  I  will  guarantee  to  deliver  the  man  within  ninety 
days.  I  stay  on  this  train  to  New  Orleans. 

HENRIETTA. 

That  telegram  arrived  at  the  Engineers'  Club 
about  midnight,  and  pursuant  to  instructions,  the 
night  barkeeper  read  it  and  'phoned  the  contents  to 
Neddy  Jerome,  who  promptly  telephoned  his  reply 
to  the  telegraph  office,  and  then  sat  on  the  edge  of  his 
bed,  scratching  his  toes  and  meditating. 

"That's  a  remarkable  young  woman,"  he  decided, 
<;and  business  to  her  finger-tips.  Like  the  majority 
of  her  sex,  she's  out  for  the  dough.  Well,  I've  done 
my  part,  and  it's  now  up  to  Jack  Webster  to  protect 
himself  in  the  clinches  and  breakaways." 

About  daylight  a  black  hand  passed  Neddy  Jer 
ome's  reply  through  the  berth-curtains  to  Dolores 
Ruey.  She  read: 

Accept.  When  you  deliver  the  goods,  communicate 
with  me  and  get  your  money. 

JEROME. 

She  snuggled  back  among  the  pillows  and  con 
sidered  the  various  aspects  of  this  amazing  contract 
which  she  had  undertaken  with  a  perfect  stranger. 
Hour  after  hour  she  lay  there,  thinking  over  th;s 


As  she  passed,  John  Stuart  Webster  looked  fairly  into  her  face, 
,   started  as  if  bee-stung,  and  hastily  lifted  his  hat 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  (J.5 

preposterous  situation,  and  the  more  she  weighed  it, 
the  more  interesting  and  attractive  the  proposition 
appeared.  But  one  consideration  troubled  her.  How 
would  the  unknown  knight  manage  an  introduction? 
Or,  if  he  failed  to  manage  it,  how  was  she  to  over 
come  that  obstacle? 

"Oh,  dear,"  she  murmured,  "I  do  hope  he's 
brave." 

She  need  not  have  worried.  Hours  before,  the 
object  of  her  thought  had  settled  all  that  to  his  own 
complete  satisfaction,  and  as  a  consequence  was 
sleeping  peacefully  and  gaining  strength  for  whatever 
of  fortune,  good  or  ill,  the  morrow  might  bring  forth. 


CHAPTER  SIX 

DAY  was  dawning  in  Buenaventura,  republic 
of  Sobrante,  as  invariably  it  dawns  in  the 
tropics — without  extended  preliminary  symp 
toms.      The    soft,    silvery    light    of    a  full    moon 
that  had  stayed  out  scandalously  late  had  merged 
imperceptibly  into  gray;  the  gray  was  swiftly  yield 
ing  place  to  a  faint  crimson  that  was  spreading  and 
deepening  upward  athwart  the  east. 

In  the  Calle^Nueva  a  game  cock,  pride  of  an  adoring 
family  of  Sobrante's  lower  class,  crowed  defiance 
to  a  neighbouring  bird.  A  dog  barked.  From  the 
patch  of  vivid  green  at  the  head  of  the  Calle  San 
Rosario  a  troupe  of  howling  monkeys  raised  a  sun-up 
cheer  that  marked  the  finish  of  a  night  of  roystering; 
from  wattled  hut  and  adobe  casa  brunette  women  in 
red  calico  wrappers  came  forth,  sleepy-eyed  and  dis 
hevelled;  and  presently  from  a  thousand  little  adobe 
fireplaces  in  a  thousand  backyards  thin  blue  spirals 
of  smoke  mounted — incense  to  the  household  gods 
of  Sobrante — Tortilla  and  Frijoles.  Brown  men, 
black  men,  lemon-tinted  men,  and  white  men  whose 
fingernails  showed  blue  instead  of  white  at  the  base, 
came  to  the  doors  of  their  respective  habitations, 
leaned  against  them,  lighted  post-breakfast  cigarettes, 
and  waited  for  somebody  to  start  something. 

66 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  67 

To  these  indolent  watchers  of  the  dawn  was 
vouchsafed  presently  the  sight  of  Senora  Concepcion 
Josefina  Morelos  on  her  way  to  early  mass  at  the 
Catedral  de  la  Vera  Cruz.  Men  called  to  each  other, 
when  she  passed,  that  Senora  Morelos  shortly  would 
seek,  in  a  Carmelite  convent,  surcease  from  the  grief 
caused  by  the  premature  demise  of  her  husband, 
General  Pablo  Morelos,  at  the  hands  of  a  firing-squad 
in  the  cuartel  yard,  as  a  warning  to  others  of  similar 
kidney  to  forbear  and  cease  to  tamper  with  the  ma 
chinery  of  politics.  And  when  Senora  Morelos  had 
passed,  came  Alberto  Guzman  with  two  smart  mules 
hitched  to  a  dilapidated  street-car;  came  Don  Juan 
Cafetero,  peseta-less,  still  slightly  befuddled  from  his 
potations  of  the  night  before,  and  raising  the  echoes 
in  the  calle  with  a  song  singularly  alien  to  his  sur 
roundings  : 

Green  were  the  fields  where  my  forefathers  dwelt — 
O,  Erin,  mavourneen,  slan  laght  go  bragh  ! 

At  the  theatre  we  sit  patiently  waiting  for  the  stage 
electrician  to  switch  on  the  footlights  and  warn  us  that 
the  drama  is  about  to  begin.  Let  us,  in  a  broader 
sense,  appropriate  that  cue  to  mark  the  beginning 
of  the  drama  with  which  this  story  deals;  instead  of  a 
stage,  however,  we  have  the  republic  of  Sobrante; 
in  lieu  of  footlights  we  have  the  sun  popping  up  out 
of  the  Caribbean  Sea. 

Those  actors  whose  acquaintance  we  have  so 
briefly  made  thus  far  must  be  presumed  to  be  supers 


68  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

crossing  the  stage  and  loitering  thereon  while  the 
curtain  is  down.  Now,  therefore,  let  us  drive  them 
into  the  wings  while  the  curtain  rises  on  a  tropical 
scene. 

In  the  patio  of  Mother  Jenks's  establishment  in  the 
Calle  de  Concordia,  No.  19,  the  first  shafts  of  morn 
ing  light  were  filtering  obliquely  through  the  orange 
trees  and  creeping  in  under  the  deep,  Gothic-arched 
veranda  flanking  the  western  side  of  the  patio,  to  re 
veal  a  dusky  maiden  of  more  or  less  polyglot  antece 
dents,  asleep  upon  a  bright,  parti-coloured  blanket 
spread  over  a  wicker  couch. 

Presently,  through  the  silent  reaches  of  the  Calle 
de  Concordia,  the  sound  of  a  prodigious  knocking 
and  thumping  echoed,  as  of  some  fretful  individual 
seeking  admission  at  the  street  door  of  El  Buen 
Amigo,  by  which  euphonious  designation  Mother 
Jenks's  caravansary  was  known  to  the  public  of 
Buenaventura.  In  the  second  story,  front,  a  window 
slid  back  and  a  woman's  voice,  husky  with  that  h'uski- 
ness  that  speaks  so  accusingly  of  cigarettes  and  al 
cohol,  demanded: 

"Quien  es  ?  Who  is  it?  Que  quiere  usted  ?  Wot 
do  yer  want?" 

"Ye  might  dispinse  wit'  that  paraqueet  conversa 
tion  whin  addhressiri'  the  likes  av  me,"  a  voice 
replied.  "'Tis  me — Cafferty.  I  have  a  cablegram 
Leber  give  me  to  deliver " 

"Gawd's  truth!  Would  yer  wake  the  'ole  'ouse 
with  yer  'ammering?" 

"All  right.     I'll  not  say  another  worrd!" 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  69 

A  minute  passed;  then  the  same  husky  voice,  the 
owner  of  which  had  evidently  descended  from  her 
sleeping  chamber  above,  spoke  in  a  steadily  rising 
crescendo  from  a  room  just  off  the  veranda: 

"  Car-may -lee-ta-a-a ! " 

We  can  serve  no  useful  purpose  by  endeavouring 
to  conceal  from  the  reader,  even  temporarily,  the 
information  that  Carmelita  was  the  sleeping  naiad 
on  the  couch;  also  that  she  continued  to  sleep,  for 
hers  was  that  quality  of  slumber  which  is  the  heritage 
of  dark  blood  and  defies  any  commotion  short  of 
that  incident  to  a  three-alarm  fire.  Three  times  the 
husky  voice  addressed  Carmelita  with  cumulative 
vehemence;  but  Carmelita  slept  on,  and  presently  the 
husky  voice  ceased  to  cry  aloud  for  her.  Followed 
the  sound  of  bare  feet  thudding  across  the  floor. 

Forth  from  the  house  came  Mother  Jenks,  a  red- 
faced,  coarse-jowled,  slightly  bearded  lady  of  un 
doubted  years  and  indiscretion,  in  curl-papers  and 
nightgown,  barefoot  and  carrying  a  bucket.  One 
scornful  glance  at  the  sleeping  Carmelita,  and  mother 
Jenks  crossed  to  the  fountain  plashing  in  the  centre 
of  the  patio,  filled  her  bucket,  stepped  to  the  veranda 
and  dashed  three  gallons  of  tepid  water  into  Carme- 
lita's  face. 

That  awakened  Carmelita — Mother  Jenks's  raucous 
"Git  up,  yer  bloody  wench!  Out,  yer  'ussy,  an' 
cook  almuerzo.  Gawd  strike  me  pink,  if  I  don't  give 
yer  the  sack  for  this — an*  sleepin'  on  my  best  new 
blenkit!"  being  in  the  nature  of  a  totally  unneces 
sary  exordium. 


70  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Carmelita  shrieked  and  fled,  while  Mother  Jenks 
scuttled  along  in  pursuit  like  a  belligerent  old  duck, 
the  while  she  heaped  opprobrium  upon  Carmelita 
and  all  her  tribe,  the  republic  of  Sobrante,  its  capital, 
its  government  officials,  and  the  cable  company.- 
Finally  she  disappeared  into  El  Buen  Amigo  with  a 
hearty  Cockney  oath  at  her  own  lack  of  foresight  in 
ever  permitting  her  sainted  'Enery  to  set  foot  on  a 
foreign  shore. 

Once  inside,  Mother  Jenks  proceeded  down  a  tiled 
hallway  to  the  cantina  of  her  hostelry  and  opened  the 
street  door  a  few  inches.  Without  the  portal  stood 
Don  Juan  Cafetero,  of  whom  a  word  or  two  before 
proceeding. 

To  begin,  Don  Juan  Cafetero  was  not  his  real 
name,  but  rather  a  free  Spanish  translation  of  the 
Gaelic,  John  Cafferty.  As  would  be  indicated  by 
the  song  he  was  singing  when  first  we  made  his 
acquaintance,  coupled  with  the  unstable  condition 
of  his  legs,  Mr.  Cafferty  was  an  exile  of  Erin  with  a 
horrible  thirst.  He  had  first  arrived  in  Sobrante 
some  five  years  before,  as  section-boss  in  the  employ 
of  the  little  foreign-owned  narrow-gauge  railway 
which  ran  from  Buenaventura  on  the  Caribbean 
coast  to  San  Miguel  de  Padua,  up-country  where  the 
nitrate  beds  were  located.  Prior  to  his  advent  the 
railroad  people  had  tried  many  breeds  of  section- 
boss  without  visible  results,  until  a  Chicago  man, 
who  had  come  to  Sobrante  to  install  an  inter 
communicating  telephone  system  in  the  Government 
buildings,  suggested  to  the  superintendent  of  the 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  71 

road,  who  was  a  German,  that  the  men  made  for 
bosses  come  from  Erin's  isle;  wherefore  Mr.  Cafferty 
had  been  imported  at  a  price  of  five  dollars  a  day 
gold.  Result — a  marked  improvement  in  the  road 
bed  and  consequently  the  train-schedules,  and  the 
ultimate  loss  of  the  Cafferty  soul. 

Don  Juan,  with  the  perversity  of  the  Celt,  and 
contrary  to  precept  and  example,  forbore  to  curse 
Sobrante.  On  the  contrary,  he  liked  Sobrante  im 
mediately  upon  arrival  and  so  stated  in  public — this 
unusual  state  of  affairs  doubtless  being  due  to  the 
fact  that  his  job  furnished  much  of  excitement  and 
interest,  for  his  driving  tactics  were  not  calculated 
to  imbue  in  his  dusky  section-hands  a  love  for  the 
new  section-boss;  and  from  the  day  he  took  charge 
until  he  lost  the  job,  the  life  of  Don  Juan  Cafetero 
had  been  equivalent  in  intrinsic  value  to  two  squirts 
of  swamp  water — possibly  one. 

Something  in  the  climate  of  Sobrante  must  have 
appealed  to  a  touch  of  laissez  faire  in  Don  Juan's 
amiable  nature,  for  in  the  course  of  time  he  had  taken 
unto  himself,  without  bell  or  book,  after  the  fashion 
of  the  proletariat  of  Sobrante,  the  daughter  of  one 
Esteban  Manuel  Enrique  Jose  Maria  Pasqual  y 
Miramontes,  an  estimable  peon  who  was  singularly 
glad  to  have  his  daughter  off  his  hands  and  no  ques 
tions  asked.  Following  the  fashion  of  the  country, 
however,  Esteban  had  forthwith  moved  the  re 
mainder  of  his  numerous  progeny  under  the  mantle  of 
Don  Juan  Cafetero's  philanthropy,  and  resigned  a 
position  which  for  many  years  he  had  not  enjoyed 


72  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

— to  wit:  salting  and  packing  green  hides  at  a  local 
abattoir.  This  foolhardy  economic  move  had  so 
incensed  Don  Juan  that  in  a  fit  of  pique  he  spurned 
his  father-in-law  (we  must  call  Esteban  something 
and  so  why  split  hairs?)  under  the  tails  of  his  camisa, 
with  such  vigour  as  to  sever  forever  the  friendly  rela 
tions  hitherto  existing  between  the  families.  Mrs. 
Cafferty  (again  we  transgress,  but  what  of  it?) 
subsequently  passed  away  in  childbirth,  and  no 
sooner  had  she  been  decently  buried  than  Don  Juan 
took  a  week  off  to  drown  his  sorrows. 

In  this  condition  he  had  encountered  Esteban 
Manuel  Enrique  Jose  Maria  Pasqual  y  Miramontes 
and  called  him  out  of  his  name — for  which  there  ap 
pears  to  be  little  excuse,  in  view  of  the  many  the 
latter  possessed.  In  the  altercation  that  ensued 
Esteban,  fully  convinced  that  he  had  received  the 
nub  end  of  the  transaction  from  start  to  finish,  cut 
Don  Juan  severely  in  the  region  of  the  umbilicus; 
Don  Juan  had  thereupon  slain  Esteban  with  a  .44- 
calibre  revolver,  and  upon  emerging  from  the  rail 
road  hospital  a  month  later  had  been  tried  by  a 
Sobrantean  magistrate  and  fined  the  sum  of  twenty 
thousand  dollars,  legal  tender  of  the  Republic  of 
Sobrante.  Of  course  he  had  paid  it  off  within  six 
months  from  his  wages  as  section-boss,  but  the 
memory  of  the  injustice  always  rankled  in  him,  and 
gradually  he  moved  down  the  scale  of  society  from 
section-boss  to  day  labourer,  day  labourer  to  tropical 
tramp,  and  tropical  tramp  to  beach-comber,  in  which 
latter  state  he  had  now  existed  for  several  months. 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  73 

While  waiting  to  round  out  the  brief  period  of  exist 
ence  which  drink  and  the  devil  had  left  him,  this 
poor  human  fragment  had  become  a  protege  of 
Ignatz  Leber,  an  Alsatian,  manager  for  a  German 
importing  and  exporting  house,  and  agent  for  the 
cable  company.  By  the  grace  of  the  philanthropic 
Ignatz,  Don  Juan  slept  under  Leber's  warehouse  and 
ate  in  his  kitchen. 

To  return  to  Mother  Jenks. 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

BEFORE  Don  Juan  could  even  utter  a  matu 
tinal  greeting,  Mother  Jenks  laid  finger  to 
lip  and  silenced  him.  "Go  back  to  Leber's 
and  return  in  an  hour,"  she  whispered.  "I  'ave 
my  reasons  for  wantin'  that  bloomin'  cablegram 
delivered  later." 

Don  Juan  hadn't  the  least  idea  what  Mother 
Jenks's  reasons  might  be,  but  he  presumed  she  was  up 
to  some  chicanery,  and  so  he  winked  his  bloodshot 
eye  very  knowingly  and  nodded  his  acquiescence 
in  the  program;  whereupon  Mother  Jenks  started  to 
close  the  door.  Instantly  Don  Juan's  foot  was  in  the 
jamb;  in  a  hoarse  whisper  he  said: 

"Whilst  ye're  askin'  favours,  woman  dear,  ye 
might  have  the  kindness  to  ask  me  if  I  have  a 
mouth." 

"Bloomin'  well  I  knows  yer  'ave  a  mouth,  for 
bloomin'  well  I  smell  yer  blawsted  breath,"  Mother 
Jenks  retorted.  However,  the  present  was  no  time  to 
raise  an  issue  with  Don  Juan,  and  so  she  slipped 
behind  the  bar  of  her  cantina,  poured  five  fingers  of 
aguardiente,  the  local  brand  of  disturbance,  and 
handed  it  to  Don  Juan  through  the  crack  in  the  door. 

"Here's  all  the  hair  off  your  head,"  Don  Juan 
Cafetero  saluted  her  amiably.  He  tossed  it  off  at  a 

74 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  75 

gulp,  handed  Mother  Jenks  the  glass,  and  departed 
with  a  whispered  promise  to  return  in  an  hour. 

When  he  had  gone,  Mother  Jenks  went  behind  the 
bar  and  fortified  herself  with  her  morning's  morning 
— which  rite  having  been  performed,  her  sleep- 
benumbed  brain  livened  up  immediately. 

"Gord's  truth!"  the  lady  murmured.  "An'  me 
about  to  turn  him  adrift  for  the  lawst  fortnight!  Well 
for  'im  'e  allers  hadmired  the  picture  o'  my  sainted 
'Enery,  as  was  the  spittin'  image  of  his  own  fawther. 
'Evings !  'Ell's  bells !  But  that  was  a  bit  of  a  tight 
squeak!  Just  as  I'm  fully  con  winced  'e's  beat  it  an' 
I'm  left  'oldin'  the  sack,  all  along  o'  my  kindness  of 
'eart,  'e  gets  the  cablegram  'e's  been  lookin'  for  this 
two  months  past;  an'  'e  allers  claimed  as  'ow  any 
time  'e  got  a  cablegram  it'd  be  an  answer  to  'is  letter, 
with  money  to  f oiler!  My  word,  but  that  was  touch 
an'  go!  An'  yet  Willie's  got  such  a  tykin'  w'y  about 
him,  I  might  'ave  knowed  'e  was  a  gentleman!" 

Still  congratulating  herself  upon  her  good  fortune 
in  intercepting  Don  Juan  Cafetero,  Mother  Jenks 
proceeded  upstairs  to  her  chamber,  clothed  herself, 
and  adjourned  to  the  kitchen,  where  Carmelita  was 
already  engaged  in  the  preparation  of  the  morning 
meal.  After  giving  orders  for  an  extra  special  break 
fast  for  two,  Mother  Jenks  returned  to  her  cantina, 
and  formally  opened  the  same  for  the  business  of  that 
day  and  night;  while  a  lank  Jamaica  negro  swept  out 
the  room  and  cleaned  the  cuspidors,  she  washed  and 
polished  her  glassware  and  set  her  back  bar  in  order. 

To  her  here  came  presently,  via  the  tiled  hallway, 


76  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

the  object  of  her  solicitude,  a  young  man  on  the 
sunny  side  of  thirty.  At  the  first  glance  one  sus 
pected  this  individual  to  be  a  member  of  the  Cau 
casian  race;  at  the  second  glance  one  verified  this 
suspicion.  He  was  thin  for  one  of  his  height  and 
breadth  of  chest;  in  colour  his  countenance  resembled 
that  of  a  sick  Chinaman.  His  hair  was  thick  and 
wavy  but  lustreless;  his  dark  blue  eyes  carried  a  hint 
of  jaundice;  and  a  generous  mouth,  beneath  an 
equally  generous  upper  lip,  gave  ample  ground  for 
the  suspicion  that  while  Mr.  William  Geary's  speech 
denoted  him  an  American  citizen,  at  least  one  of  his 
maternal  ancestors  had  been  wooed  and  won  by  an 
Irishman.  An  old  panama  hat,  sad  relic  of  a  prosper 
ous  past,  a  pair  of  soiled  buckskin  pumps,  a  suit  of 
unbleached  linen  equally  befouled,  and  last  but  not 
least,  the  remnants  of  a  smile  that  much  hard  luck 
could  never  quite  obliterate,  completed  his  attire — 
and  to  one  a  stranger  in  the  tropics  would  appear 
to  qonstitute  a  complete  inventory  of  Mr.  Geary's 
possessions.  An  experienced  person,  however,  would 
have  observed  immediately  that  Mother  Jenks's 
seedy  guest  had  been  bitten  deeply  and  often  by 
mosquitoes  and  was,  in  consequence,  the  proprietor 
of  a  low  malarial  fever,  with  its  concomitant  chills. 

"Dulce  corazon  mio,  I  extend  a  greeting,"  he  called 
at  the  entrance.  "I  trust  you  rested  well  last  night, 
Mother  Jenks,  and  that  no  evil  dreams  were  born  of 
your  midnight  repast  otfrijoles  refritos,  marmalade, 
and  arf-an'-arf !" 

"Chop  yer  spoofin',  Willie,"  Mother  Jenks  sim- 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  77 

pered.  "My  heye!  So  I'm  yer  sweet'eart,  eh? 
Yer  wheedlin'  blighter,  makin'  love  to  a  girl  as  is  old 
enough  to  be  yer  mother!" 

"A  woman,"  Mr.  Geary  retorted  sagely  and  not  a 
whit  abashed,  "  is  at  the  apex  of  her  feminine  charms 
at  thirty-seven." 

He  knew  m^  landlady  to  be  not  a  day  under  fifty, 
but  such  is  the  ease  with  which  the  Irish  scatter  their 
blarney,  and  such  the  vanity  of  the  gentler  sex  (for 
despite  Mother  Jenks's  assault  upon  Carmelita,  we 
include  the  lady  in  that  pleasing  category),  that 
neither  Billy  Geary  nor  Mother  Jenks  regarded  this 
pretty  speech  in  the  light  of  an  observation  imma 
terial,  inconsequential  and  not  germane  to  the  matter 
at  issue.  For  Mother  Jenks  was  the  eternal  feminine, 
and  it  warmed  the  cockles  of  her  heart  to  be  told 
she  was  only  thirty-seven,  even  though  reason  warned 
her  that  the  compliment  was  not  garnished  with  the 
sauce  of  sincerity.  As  for  Billy,  the  sight  of  Mother 
Jenks  swallowing  this  specious  bait,  together  with 
hook,  line,  and  sinker,  always  amused  him  and  for  the 
nonce  took  his  mind  off  his  own  troubles.  Neverthe 
less,  there  was  a  deeper  reason  for  his  blarney.  This 
morning,  watching  thejteUtale  tinge  of  pleasure  under 
lying  the  alcohol-begotten  hue  of  the  good  creature's 
face,  he  felt  almost  ashamed  of  his  own  heartless- 
ness — almost,  but  not  quite. 

Let  us  take  Billy's  view  of  his  own  case  and  view 
his  mendacity  with  a  kindly  and  tolerant  eye.  For 
two  months  he  had  existed  entirely  because  of  the 
leniency  of  Mother  Jenks  in  the  matter  of  credit. 


78  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

He  could  not  pay  her  cash,  devoutly  as  he  hoped  to 
do  some  day,  and  he  considered  it  of  the  most  vital 
importance  that  in  the  interim  he  should  somehow 
survive.  Therefore,  in  lieu  of  cash  he  paid  her  com 
pliments,  which  she  snapped  up  greedily. 

In  the  cold  gray  dawn  of  the  morning  after  Mother 
Jenks  always  detected  the  bug  in  Billy's  amber  and 
vowed  to  rout  him  bag  and  baggage  that  very  day; 
but  when  one  is  fond  of  blarney,  it  is  hard  indeed  to 
destroy  the  source  of  it;  and  while  Mother  Jenks's 
courage  had  mounted  to  the  point  of  action  many  a 
time,  in  the  language  of  the  sporting  extra,  Billy  had 
always  "beaten  her  to  the  punch";  for  when  instinct 
warned  him  that  Mother  Jenks  was  about  to  talk 
business,  he  could  always  rout  her  by  declaring  she 
was  pencilling  her  eyebrows  or  rouging  her  cheeks. 

An  inventive  genius  was  Billy.  He  never  em 
ployed  the  same  defensive  tactics  two  days  in  suc 
cession,  and  when  personal  flattery  threatened  to  fail 
him,  a  large  crayon  reproduction  of  the  late  Henry 
Jenks,  which  hung  over  the  back  bar,  was  a  never- 
failing  source  of  inspiration. 

This  was  the  "sainted  'Enery"  previously  referred 
to  by  Mother  Jenks.  He  had  been  a  sergeant  in  Her 
Brittanic  Majesty's  Royal  Horse  Artillery,  and  upon 
retiring  to  the  Reserve  had  harkened  to  a  proposition 
to  emigrate  to  Sobrante  and  accept  a  commission  as 
colonel  of  artillery  with  the  Government  forces  then 
in  the  throes  of  a  revolutionary  attack.  The  rebels 
had  triumphed,  and  as  a  result  'Enery  had  been 
sainted  via  the  customary  expeditious  route;  where- 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  79 

upon  his  wife  had  had  recourse  to  her  early  profes 
sion  of  barmaid,  and  El  Buen  Amigo  had  resulted. 

However,  let  us  return  to  our  sheeps,  as  Mr. 
Geary  would  have  expressed  it.  Seemingly  the 
effect  of  Billy's  compliment  was  instantly  evident, 
for  Mother  Jenks  set  out  two  glasses  and  a  bottle. 

"I  know  yer  a  trifler,  Willy  Geary,"  she  simpered, 
"but  if  I  do  s'y  it  as  shouldn't,  I  was  accounted  as 
'andsome  a  barmaid  as  you'd  find  in  Bristol  town.  I've 
lost  my  good  looks,  what  with  grief  an'  worritin'  since 
losin'  my  sainted  'Enery,  but  I  was  'andsome  oncet." 

"I  can  well  believe  it,  Mother — since  you  are 
handsome  still!  For  my  part,"  he  continued  con 
fidentially,  as  with  shaking  hand  he  filled  his  brandy- 
glass,  "you'll  excuse  this  drunkard's  drink,  Mother, 
but  I  need  it;  I  had  the  shakes  again  last  night — for 
my  part,  I  prefer  the  full-blown  rose  to  the  bud." 

Mother  Jenks  fluttered  like  a  debutante  as  she 
poured  her  drink.  They  touched  glasses,  calloused 
worldlings  that  they  were. 

"'Ow,"  said  Mother  Jenks,  toasting  the  philander 
ing  wretch. 

"How!"  He  tossed  off  his  drink.  It  warmed  and 
strengthened  him,  after  his  night  of  chills  and  fever, 
and  brazenly  he  returned  to  the  attack. 

"Changing  the  subject  from  feminine  grace  and 
charm  to  manly  strength  and  virtue,  I've  been  mark 
ing  lately  the  resolute  poise  of  your  martyred  hus 
band's  head  on  his  fine  military  shoulders.  There 
was  a  man,  if  I  may  judge  from  his  photograph,  that 
would  fight  a  wildcat." 


80  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Oh,  m'ybe  'e  wouldn't!"  Mother  Jenks  hastened 
to  declare.  "You  know,  Willie,  I  was  present  w'en 
they  shot  'im,  a-waitin'  to  claim  'is  body.  'E  kisses 
me  good-bye,  an'  says  'e:  'Brace  up,  ol'  girl.  Re 
member  your  'usband's  been  a  sergeant  in  'Er  Maj 
esty's  Royal  'Orse  Artillery,  an*  don't  let  the  bloody 
blighters  see  yer  cry.'  Then  'e  walks  out  front,  with 
'is  fine  straight  back  to  the  wall,  draws  a  circle  on  'is 
blue  tunic  with  white  chalk  an'  says :  '  Shoot  at  that, 
yer  yeller-bellied  bounders,  an'  be  damned  to  yer!" 

"To  be  the  widow  of  such  a  gallant  son  of  Mars," 
Billy  declared,  "is  a  greater  honour  than  being  the 
wife  of  a  duke." 

For  the  sake  of  'Enery's  memory  Mother  Jenks 
squeezed  out  a  tear.  Billy  would  have  egged  her  on 
to  a  lachrymal  flood,  for  he  knew  she  would  enjoy  it, 
but  at  that  moment  entered  Carmelita,  to  announce 
breakfast. 

Mother  Jenks,  recalling  her  husband's  last  advice, 
declined  to  let  even  a  Sobrantean  girl  see  her  weep. 
She  composed  herself  instantly,  filled  her  glass  again, 
and  pushed  the  bottle  to  Billy. 

"'Ave  another  peg  with  Mother,  Willie." 

"I'll  go  you,  Mother,  although  it's  really  my  turn 
to  set  'em  up.  I  would  if  I  had  the  price.  However, 
I'm  expecting  action  on  that  concession  of  mine 
pretty  soon,  Mother,  and  when  I  get  straightened 
out,  they'll  date  time  in  the  Calle  de  Concordia 
from  the  spending  toot  I'll  inaugurate.  Ah,  Mother," 
he  added  with  a  note  of  genuine  gratitude  and  sin 
cerity,  "you've  been  awfully  good  to  me.  I  don't 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  81 

know  what  I'd  have  done  without  you."  He  laid 
his  hand  on  her  fat  arm.  "Mother,  one  of  these 
days  I'll  get  mine,  and  when  I  do  I'm  going  to  stake 
you  to  a  nice  little  pub  back  in  Bristol." 

She  smiled  at  him  with  motherly  tenderness  and 
shook  her  head.  In  a  concrete  niche  in  the  mortuary 
of  the  Catedral  de  la  Vera  Cruz  the  bones  of  her 
sainted  'Enery  reposed,  and  when  her  hour  came  st^e 
would  lie  beside  him.  Moreover,  she  was  a  tropical 
tramp.  She  had  grown  to  like  Sobrante,  for  all  her 
railing  against  it,  and  she  knew  she  would  never  see 
the  chalk  cliffs  of  Albion  again. 

"Yer  a  sweet  boy,  Willie,"  she  told  him,  "an* 
I'd  trust  yer  for  double  the  score,  s'help  me.  'Eving 
knows  I  'aven't  much,  but  wot  I  'ave  I  shares  freely 
with  them  I  likes.  I  'ave  a  brace  o'  duck  heggs, 
'am  an'  'ot  cakes,  Willie,  an'  yer '11  breakfuss  with 
Mother.  Duck  heggs,  'am  an'  'ot  cakes,  Willie. 
'Ow's  that?  Eh,  yer  precious  byby." 

Billy's  glistening  eyes  testified  to  the  profundity 
of  his  feelings  at  the  prospect  of  this  Lucullan  feast. 
It  had  been  long  since  Mother  Jenks's  larder  had 
yielded  him  anything  more  stable  than  brown  beans, 
tortillas,  fried  onions,  and  an  occasional  dab  of  mar 
malade,  and  the  task  of  filling  in  the  corners  of  his 
appetite  with  free  tropical  fruit  had  long  since  grown 
irksome. 

Mother  Jenks  preceded  him  into  the  shady  side 
of  the  veranda,  where  ordinarily  she  was  wont  to 
breakfast  in  solitary  state.  Her  table  was  set  for 
two  this  morning,  however,  but  this  extraordinary 


82  WEBSTER— MAX'S  MAX 

circumstance  was  lost  sight  of  by  the  shameless 
Billy  in  the  prospect  of  one  more  real  meal  before 
the  chills  and  fever  claimed  their  own.  He  flipped 
an  adventurous  cockroach  off  the  table  and  fell  to 
with  fine  appetite. 

He  was  dallying  with  a  special  brew  of  coffee,  with 
condensed  milk  in  it,  when  the  Jamaica  negro  en 
tered  from  the  cantina  to  announce  Don  Juan  Cafe- 
tero  with  a  cablegram. 

"A  cablegram!"  Mother  Jenks  cried.  "Cord's 
truth!  I'll  wager  the  pub  it's  for  you,  Willie." 

"I  wonder!  Can  it  be  possible  it's  come  at  last?" 
Billy  cried  incredulously. 

"I'd  not  be  surprised,"  Mother  Jenks  replied. 
"Bob" — turning  to  the  negro,  and  addressing  him 
in  her  own  private  brand  of  Spanish — "give  Don 
Juan  a  drink,  if  'e  'asn't  helped  'imself  while  yer 
back  is  turned,  an'  bring  the  cablegram  'ere." 

Within  the  minute  Bob  returned  with  a  long  yellow 
envelope,  which  he  handed  Mother  Jenks.  Without 
so  much  as  a  glance  at  the  superscription,  she  handed 
it  to  Billy  Geary,  who  tore  it  open  and  read: 

Los  Angeles,  Calif.,  U.  S.  A., 
August  16,  1913. 
HENRIETTA  WILKTSB, 
Calle  de  Concordia,  Xo.  10. 
Buenaventura, 
Sobrante,  C.  A. 

Leaving  to-day  to  visit  you.  Will  cable  from  Xew 
Orleans  exact  date  arrival. 

DOLORES. 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  83 

The  shadow  of  deep  disappointment  settled  over 
Billy's  face  as  he  read.  Mother  Jenks  noted  it 
instantly. 

"Wot's  'e  got  to  s'y,  Willie?"  she  demanded. 

"It  isn't  a  he.  It's  a  she,"  Billy  replied.  "Be 
sides,  the  cablegram  isn't  for  me  at  all.  It's  for  one 
Henrietta  Wilkins,  Calle  de  Concordia,  Number 
Nineteen,  and  who  the  devil  Henrietta  Wilkins  may 
be  is  a  mystery  to  me.  Ever  have  any  boarder  by 
that  name,  Mother?" 

Mother  Jenks's  red  face  had  gone  white.  "'En- 
rietta  Wilkins  was  my  maiden  nyme,  Willie,"  she 
confessed  soberly,  "an'  there's  only  one  human  as  'ud 
cable  me  or  write  me  by  that  nyme.  Gord,  Willie, 
wot's  'appened?" 

"I'll  read  it  to  you,  Mother." 

Billy  read  the  message  aloud;  and  when  he  had 
finished,  to  his  amazement,  Mother  Jenks  laid  her 
head  on  the  table  and  began  to  weep. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

WHEN  Billy  Geary  could  reorganize  himself, 
as  it  were,  after  the  shock  incident  to  his 
discovery  that  the  cablegram  was  not  for 
him  after  all,  he  turned  his  attention  to  Mother 
Jenks.  Without  quite  realizing  why  he  did  so,  Billy 
decided  that  fear  and  not  grief  was  at  the  bottom 
of  the  good  creature's  distress,  and  in  his  awkward, 
masculine  way  he  placed  his  arm  around  Mother 
Jenks's  shoulders,  shook  her  gently,  and  bade  her 
remember  that  chaos  might  come  and  go  again,  but 
he,  the  said  William  Geary,  would  remain  her  true 
and  steadfast  friend  in  any  and  all  emergencies  that 
might  occur. 

"Gor'  bless  yer  heart,  Willie,"  Mother  Jenks 
sniffled.  "If  this  was  only  somethink  I  could  hen- 
trust  to  a  man!  But  it  ain't." 

"Well,  suppose  you  tell  me  what  it  is  and  let  me 
be  the  judge,"  Billy  suggested.  "I  haven't  got  one 
centavo  to  rub  against  the  other,  and  on  present  form 
and  past  performances  I'm  the  last  man  in  the  world 
to  handle  an  affair  between  two  women,  but — I  have 
a  head  on  my  shoulders,  and  nobody  ever  had  reason 
to  suspect  that  head  of  being  empty.  Perhaps,  if 
you  care  to  give  me  your  confidence,  I  may  be  of 
service  to  you,  Mother." 

84 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  85 

"Willie,"  his  landlady  wailed,  "I  dunno  wot  in 
'ell  yer  ever  goin'  to  think  o*  me  w'en  I  tell  ye  wot  I've 
been  up  to  this  past  fifteen  year." 

"Whatever  you've  been  up  to,  Mother,  it  was  a 
kind  and  charitable  deed — of  that  much  I  am  cer 
tain,"  Billy  replied  loftily  and — to  his  own  surprise — 
sincerely. 

"As  Gord  is  my  judge,  Willie,  it  started  out  that 
w'y,"  moaned  Mother  Jenks,  and  she  squeezed  Billy's 
hand  as  if  from  that  yellow,  shaking  member  she  would 
draw  aid  and  comfort.  "  'Er  nyme  is  Dolores  Ruey." 

"Any  relation  to  the  Ruey  family  of  Buenaven 
tura?" 

"A  first  cousin,  Willie.  'Er  father  was  Don 
Ricardo  Ruey,  presidente  av  this  blasted  'ell  on  earth 
w'en  me  an'  my  sainted  'Enery  first  come  to  Buena 
ventura.  'E  was  too  good  for  the  yeller-bellied 
beggars;  'e  tried  to  do  somethink  for  them  an'  run 
the  government  on  the  square,  an'  they  couldn't 
hunderstand,  all  along  o'  'avin'  been  kicked  an' 
cuffed  by  a  long  line  of  bloody  rotters.  It  was  Don 
Ricardo  as  gives  my  sainted  'Enery  'is  commission 
as  colonel  in  the  hartillery. 

"That  was  all  very  well,  you  know,  Willie,  only 
Don  Ricardo  didn't  go  far  enough.  If  'e'd  only 
'arkened  to  'Enery 's  advice  an'  imported  a  lot  o' 
bloomin'  Tommies  to  serve  'Enery's  guns,  'im  an* 
'Enery  never  would  'ave  faced  that  firin'-squad. 
Many's  the  time  'Enery's  said  to  me:  '  'Enrietta,  me 
'art's  broke  tryin'  to  myke  gunners  out  o'  them  black 
amoors  Don  Ricardo  gives  me  to  serve  the  screw- 


86  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

guns.  They've  been  born  without  a  sense  o'  dis 
tance!'  Gor'  bless  you,  Willie,  my  sainted  'Enery 
'ad  no  bloomin'  use  for  a  range-finder.  'E'd  cast  'is 
eye  over  the  ground  an'  then  try  a  shot  for  distance. 
M'ybe  'e'd  be  a  bit  short.  *A  bit  more  elevation, 
amigos,9  says  'Enery,  an'  tries  again.  This  time  'e's 
a  bit  over  it,  m'ybe,  but  the  third  or  fourth  shot  'e  'as 
the  range  an'  stays  right  on  the  target.  But  then, 
Willie,  as  'Enery  used  to  s'y  to  me:  "Enrietta,  how 
in  blazes  can  I  serve  six  guns?  How  can  a  colonel 
of  hartillery  come  down  off  'is  'orse  an  do  a  gunner's 
work?  It  ain't  dignified."' 

Billy  nodded.  He  had  heard  that  story  so  often 
in  the  past  that  he  knew  it  by  heart;  from  all  he  could 
learn  the  sainted  'Enery  quite  resembled  a  horse, 
in  that  he  had  room  in  his  head  for  but  one  thought 
at  a  time.  As  a  gunner-sergeant  he  was  doubtless 
a  loss  to  the  British  service,  but  as  a  colonel  of  So- 
brantean  artillery  he  had  tried  to  forget  that  once 
he  had  been'a  gunner-sergeant! 

"You've  'eard  me  tell,"  Mother  Jenks  continued, 
"'ow  the  rebels  got  'arf  a  dozen  Harnerican  gunners 
— deserters  from  the  navy — an'  blew  'Enery's  bat 
tery  to  bits  'ow  the  Government  forces  fell  back 
upon  Buenaventura,  an'  as  'ow  w'en  the  dorgs  begun 
to  wonder  if  they  mightn't  lose,  they  quit  by  the 
'undreds  an'  went  over  to  the  rebel  side,  leavin'  Don 
Ricardo  an'  'Enery  an'  m'ybe  fifty  o' the  gentry  in  the 
palace.  In  course  they  fought  to  a  finish;  'ristocrats, 
all  of  them,  they  'ad  to  die  fightin'  or  facin'  a  firin'- 
squad." 


WEBSTELV-MAN'S  MAN  87 

Again  Billy  nodded.  He  had  heard  the  tale  before, 
including  the  recital  of  the  sainted  'Enery's  gallant 
dash  from  the  blazing  palace  in  an  effort  to  save 
Don  Ricardo's  only  child,  a  girl  of  seven,  and  of  his 
capture  and  subsequent  execution. 

"That  ended  the  revolution,"  Mother  Jenks  con 
cluded.  "But  'ere's  somethink  I've  never  told  a 
livin'  soul.  Shortly  before  'Enery  was  hexecuted, 
'e  told  me  where  Vd  'id  the  youngster — in  a  culvert 
out  on  the  Malecon;  so  I  'ired  a  four-wheeler  an' 
went  out  an'  rescued  the  pore  lamb.  She'd  been 
'idin'  there  thirty-six  hours  an'  was  well-nigh  dead, 
an'  as  there  ain't  no  tellin'  what  a  mob  o'  these  spig- 
goties'll  do  when  they're  excited,  I  'id  'er  until  the 
harrival  o'  the  next  fruit  steamer,  w'en  I  shipped  'er 
to  New  Orleans  in  care  o'  the  stewardess.  Hi  'ad 
'er  put  in  the  Catholic  convent  there,  for  as  'Enery 
said :  *  'Enrietta,  keep  an  eye  on  the  little  nipper,  an' 
do  yer  damndest  to  see  she's  raised  a  lydy.  'Er 
father  was  a  gentleman,  an'  you  never  want  to  forget 
'e  made  you  Mrs.  Colonel  Jenks.'  So  Hi've  made  a 
lydy  out  o'  her,  Willie:  education,  pianner  lessons, 
paintin',  singin',  an'  deportmint.  After  she  gradu 
ated  from  the  convent,  I  'ad  her  take  a  course  in  the 
Uniwersity  o'  California — New  Orleans  wasn't  'ealthy 
for  'er,  an'  she  needed  a  chynge  o'  climate — an'  for 
the  last  two  years  she's  been  teachin'  in  the  'igh 
school  in  Los  Angeles." 

"And  you  haven't  seen  her  in  all  these  years?" 
Geary  demanded. 

"Not  a  look,  Willie.     She's  been  after  me  ever 


88  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

since  she  graduated  from  the  convent  to  let  her 
come  'ome  an'  wisit  me,  but  Hi've  told  'er  to  wyte — 
that  I'd  be  comin'  soon  to  wisit  her.  An'  now,  s'help 
me,  she  won't  wait  no  longer;  she's  comin'  to  wisit 
me!  Gor',  Willie,  she's  on  her  w'y!" 

"So  this  cablegram  would  indicate,"  Geary  ob 
served.  "Nevertheless,  Mother,  I'm  at  a  loss  to 
know  why  you  should  feel  so  cut  up  over  the  im 
pending  visit." 

There  was  real  fear  in  Mother  Jenks's  tear-dimmed 
eyes.  "I  cawn't  let  'er  see  me,"  she  wailed.  "I 
wasn't  this  w'y  w'en  my  sainted  'Enery  hentrusted 
the  lamb  to  me;  it  wasn't  until  awfter  they  hexecuted 
'Enery  that  I  commenced  to  slip — an'  now  look  at  me. 
Look  at  me,  Willie  Geary;  look  at  me,  I  s'y.  Wot  do 
yer  see?  Aw,  don't  tell  me  I'm  young  an'  'andsome, 
for  I  knows  wot  I  am.  I'm  a  frowsy,  drunken,  dis 
reputable  baggage,  with  no  heducation  or  nothink. 
I've  raised  'er  a  lydy  on  account  of  'er  bein'  born  a 
lydy  an'  her  father  bein'  good  to  me  an  my  'Enery — 
an'  all  along,  hever  since  she  learned  to  write  me  a 
letter,  I've  been  'Enrietta  Wilkins  to  'er,  an'  Mother 
Jenks  to  every  beach-combin'  beggar  in  the  Carib 
bean  tropics.  I've  lied  to  'er,  Willie.  I've  wrote  'er 
as  'ow  'er  fawther,  before  'e  died,  give  me  enough 
money  to  heducate  'er  like  a  lydy " 

Again  Mother  Jenks's  grief  overcame  her.  "An" 
wot  lovin'  letters  my  darlin'  writes  me,"  she  sobbed. 
"Calls  me  'er  lovin'  Aunt  'Enrietta,  an'  me — Gor', 
Willie,  I  ain't  respectable.  She's  comin'  to  see  me — 
an'  I  cawn't  let  'er.  She  mustn't  know  'ow  I  got  the 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  89 

money  for  'er  heducation — sellin'  'ell-fire  to  a  pack 
of  rotten  dorgs  an'  consortin'  with  the  scum  of  this 
^stinkin'  'ole!  Oh,  Willie,  you've  got  to  'elp  me.  I 
cawn't  'ave  'er  comin'  to  El  Buen  Amigo  to  see  me, 
an'  I  cawn't  ruin  'er  reputation  by  callin'  on  'er  in 
public  at  the  'Otel  Mateo.  Oh,  Gor',  Willie,  Mother's 
come  a  cropper." 

Willie  agreed  with  her.  He  patted  the  sinful  gray 
head  of  his  landlady  and  waited  for  her  to  regain  her 
composure,  the  while  he  racked  his  agile  brain  for  a 
feasible  plan  to  fit  the  emergency.  He  realized  it 
would  be  quite  useless  to  argue  Mother  Jenks  into 
the  belief  that  she  might  pull  herself  together,  so  to 
speak,  and  run  the  risk  of  meeting  with  her  ward; 
for  the  old  woman  had  been  born  in  the  slums  of 
London  and  raised  a  barmaid.  She  knew  her  place. 
She  vas  not  a  lady  and  could  never  hope  now  to  as 
sociate  with  one,  even  in  a  menial  capacity,  so  there 
was  an  end  to  it!  During  the  past  fifteen  years,  the 
lower  Mother  Jenks  had  sunk  in  the  social  scale,  even 
of  free-and-easy  old  Buenaventura,  the  higher  had 
she  raised  the  one  sweet  note  in  her  sordid  life;  not 
until  the  arrival  of  that  cablegram  did  she  realize 
that  during  those  fifteen  years  she  had  been  raising 
a  barrier  between  her  and  the  object  of  her  stifled 
maternal  yearnings — a  barrier  which,  to  her  class- 
controlled  mind,  could  never  be  swept  away. 

"She's  been  picturin'  me  in  'er  mind  all  these  years, 
Willie — picturin'  a  fraud,"  wailed  Mother  Jenks. 
"If  she  sees  me  now,  wot  a  shock  she'll  get,  pore 
sweetheart — an'  'er  the  spittin'  himage  of  a  hangel. 


90  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  t 

And  oh,  Willie,  while  she  don't  remember  wot  I 
looked  like,  think  o'  the  shock  if  she  meets  me!  In 
'er  lawst  letter  she  said  as  'ow  I  was  the  only  hanchor 
she  had  in  life.  Ho,  yes.  A  sweet-lookin'  hanchor  I 
am — an'  Hi  was  'opin'  to  die  before  she  found  hout. 
I've  got  a  hanuerism  in  my  'eart,  Willie,  so  the  sur 
geon  on  the  mail  boat  tells  *me,  an'  w'en  I  go,  I'll 
go  like — that!"  Mother  Jenks  snapped  her  ciga 
rette-stained  fingers.  "I  'ad  the  doctor  come  ashore 
the  last  time  La  Estrellita  was  in,  on  account  o'  'im 
bein*  a  Hamerican  an'  up  to  snuff.  An'  Hi've  got 
'ardenin'  of  the  harteries,  too.  I'm  fifty-seven, 
Willie,  an'  since  my  sainted  'Enery  passed  away,  I 
'aven't  been  no  bloomin'  hangel."  She  wrung  her 
hands.  "Oh,  w'y  in  'ell  couldn't  them  harteries  'ave 
busted  in  time  to  save  my  lamb  the  'umiliatin'  knowl 
edge  that  she's  be'oldin'  to  the  likes  o'  me  for  wot 
she's  got — an*  'ow  I  got  it  for  'er." 

Billy  Geary  had  a  bright  idea.  "Well,"  he  said, 
"why  not  die — temporarily — if  you  feel  that  way 
about  it?  You  could  come  back  from  the  grave  after 
she's  gone." 

But  Mother  Jenks  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she 
declared.  "While  Dolores  is  self-supportin'  now, 
still,  if  anythink  'appened  an'  she  was  to  need  'elp, 
'elp  is  somethin'  no  ghost  can  give.  Think  again, 
Willie.  Gor',  lad,  w'ere's  yer  brains — an'  you  with 
your  stummick  filled  to  bustin'  with  a  breakfast  fit  for 
a  knight  o'  the  bawth." 

"Well,"  Billy  countered  thoughtfully,  "appar 
ently  there's  no  way  of  heading  her  off  before  she 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  91 

takes  the  steamer  at  New  Orleans,  so  we'll  take  it  for 
granted  she'll  arrive  here  in  due  course.  About  the 
time  she's  due,  suppose  you  run  up  to  San  Miguel  de 
Padua  for  a  couple  of  weeks  and  leave  me  to  run  El 
Buen  Amigo  in  your  absence.  I'll  play  fair  with 
you,  Mother,  so  help  me.  I'll  account  for  every 
centavo.  I'll  borrow  some  decent  clothes  from  Leber 
the  day  the  steamer  gets  in;  then  I'll  go  aboard  and 
look  over  the  passenger-list,  and  if  she's  aboard,  I'll 
tell  her  you  closed  your  house  and  started  for  Cali 
fornia  to  visit  her  on  the  last  northbound  steamer — 
that  her  cablegram  arrived  just  after  you  had  started; 
that  the  cable  company,  knowing  I  am  a  friend  of 
yours,  showed  me  the  message  and  that  I  took  it 
upon  myself  to  call  and  explain  that  as  a  result  of 
your  departure  for  the  United  States  it  will  be  useless 
for  her  to  land — useless  and  dangerous,  because 
cholera  is  raging  in  Buenaventura,  although  the 
port  authorities  deny  it " 

"Willie,"  Mother  Jenks  interrupted  impressively, 
a  ghost  of  her  old  debonair  spirit  shining  through  her 
tears,  "yer  don't  owe  me  a  bloomin'  sixpence! 
Yer've  syved  the  day,  syved  my  reputation,  an* 
syved  a  lydy's  peace  o'  mind.  Kiss  me,  yer  precious 
byby." 

So  Billy  kissed  her — gravely  and  with  filial  rever 
ence,  for  he  had  long  suspected  Mother  Jenks  of*  being 
a  pearl  cast  before  swine,  and  now  he  was  certain  of  it. 

"I'll  send  her  back  to  the  United  States  and  prom 
ise  to  cable  you  to  await  her  there,"  Billy  continued. 
"Of  course,  we  can't  help  it  if  you  and  the  cablegram 


92  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

miss  connections,  and  once  the  young  lady  is  back 
in  the  United  States,  I  dare  say  she'll  have  to  stay 
there  a  couple  of  years  before  she  can  save  the  price 
of  another  sea  voyage.  And  in  the  meantime  she 
may  marry " 

"Or  that  haneurism  or  my  bally  harteries  may  'ave 
turned  the  trick  before  that,"  Mother  Jenks  sug 
gested  candidly  but  joyously.  "In  course  she'll  bt 
disappointed,  but  then  disappointment  never  lays 
'eavy  on  a  young  'eart,  Willie;  an'  bein'  disap 
pointed  at  not  seein'  a  person  you  ain't  really  ac 
quainted  with  ain't  as  bad  as  some  disappointments." 

"I  guess  I  know,"  Billy  Geary  replied  bitterly. 
"If  that  cablegram  had  only  been  for  me!  The  only 
thing  worth  while  I  have  done  in  my  twenty-six 
years  of  life  was  to  accumulate  the  best  friend  a 
man  ever  had — and  lose  him  again  because  I  was  a 
fool  and  couldn't  understand  things  without  a  blue 
print!  Mother,  if  my  old  partner  could,  by  some 
miracle,  manage  to  marry  this  Dolores  girl,  your 
arteries  and  your  aneurisms  might  bust  and  be 
damned,  but  the  girl  would  be  safe." 

"M'ybe,"  Mother  Jenks  suggested  hopefully,  "yer 
might  fix  it  up  for  her  w'en  I'm  gone.  From  all 
haccounts  Vs  no-end  a  gentleman." 

"He's  a  he-man,"  Mr.  Geary  declared  with  convic 
tion.  He  sighed.  "John  Stuart  Webster,  wherever 
you  are,  please  write  or  cable,"  he  murmured. 


CHAPTER  NINE 

THE  ancient  bromide  to  the  effect  that  man 
proposes  but  God  disposes  was  never  better 
exemplified  than  in  the  case  of  John  Stuart 
Webster,  who,  having  formulated  certain  daring 
plans  for  the  morrow  and  surrendered  himself  to 
grateful  slumber  in  his  stateroom  aboard  the  Gulf 
States  Limited,  awoke  on  that  momentous  morn  to  a 
distinct  apprehension  that  all  was  not  as  it  should  be 
with  him.  His  mouth  reminded  him  vaguely  of  a 
bird-and-animal  store,  and  riot  and  insurrection  had 
broken  out  in  the  geometric  centre  of  his  internal 
economy. 

"I  believe  I'm  going  to  be  too  ill  to  eat  breakfast," 
he  told  himself. 

By  seven  o'clock  this  apprehension  had  crystallized 
into  certainty.  Webster  had  spent  much  of  his  life 
far  from  civilization,  and  as  a  result  had  found  it 
necessary  to  acquire  more  than  the  layman's  knowl 
edge  of  rough-and-tumble  surgery  and  the  ordinary 
ills  to  which  mortal  is  heir;  consequently  he  was 
sufficient  of  a  jack-leg  doctor  to  suspect  he  was  de 
veloping  a  splendid  little  case  of  ptomaine  poisoning. 
He  was  aided  in  reaching  this  conclusion  by  memories 
of  the  dinner  his  friends  had  given  him  the  night 
before,  and  at  which  he  had  partaken  of  a  mallard 

93 


94  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

duck,  killed  out  of  season  and  therefore  greatly  to  be 
prized.  He  recalled  the  waiter's  boast  that  the  said 
duck  had  been  hung  for  five  days  and  had  reached 
that  state  of  ripeness  and  tenderness  so  greatly  de 
sired  by  those  connoisseurs  of  food  whose  fool  philos 
ophy  has  been  responsible  for  more  deaths  than  most 
doctors. 

"That  brute  of  a  duck  was  too  far  gone,"  Mr. 
Webster  soliloquized  bitterly.  "And  to  think  I'm 
killed  off  in  the  mere  shank  of  my  celebration,  just 
because  I  got  so  rich  and  stuck-up  I  had  to  tie  into 
some  offal  to  show  what  a  discerning  judgment  I  had 
in  food,  not  to  mention  my  distinctive  appetite.  I 
ought  to  be  knocked  on  the  head  with  something, 
and  I  hope  I  may  be  if  I  ever  accept  any  man's  judg 
ment  in  opposition  to  my  own,  on  the  subject  of  ripe 
mallards.  This  is  what  comes  of  breaking  the  game 
laws." 

He  decided  presently  to  go  into  executive  session 
with  the  sleeping-car  conductor,  who  wired  ahead  for 
a  doctor  to  meet  the  train  at  the  next  station.  And 
when  the  sawbones  came  and  pawed  Jack  Webster 
over,  he  gravely  announced  that  if  the  patient  had 
the  slightest  ambition  to  vote  at  the  next  Presidential 
election,  he  should  leave  the  train  at  St.  Louis  and 
enter  a  hospital  forthwith.  To  this  heart-breaking 
program  Webster  entered  not  the  slightest  objection, 
for  when  a  man  is  seriously  ill,  he  is  in  much  the  same 
position  as  a  politician — to  wit:  he  is  in  the  hands  of 
his  friends.  A  sick  man  is  always  very  sick — or 
thinks  he  is,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing; 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  95 

and  as  a  rule  lie  thinks  of  little  else  save  how  sick  he 
is.  John  S.  Webster  was,  in  this  respect,  neither 
better  nor  worse  than  others  of  his  sex,  and  in  his 
great  bodily  and  mental  depression  his  plans  of  the 
night  before  for  getting  acquainted  with  Dolores 
Ruey  occurred  to  him  now  as  something  extremely 
futile  and  presumptuous.  That  young  lady  was  now 
the  subject  least  in  his  mind,  for  she  was  at  most 
naught  but  a  bright  day-dream;  whereas  his  friend 
Billy  Geary  was  down  in  Sobrante  with  a  rich  wildcat 
mine  waiting  to  be  developed,  while  the  source  of 
development  lay  on  a  bed  of  pain  assailed  by  secret 
apprehensions  that  all  was  over! 

"  Poor  Billy-boy ! "  the  sufferer  murmured.  "  He'll 
wait  and  wait,  and  his  old  Jack-partner  won't  come! 
Damn  that  duck!" 

He  had  one  little  stab  of  pain  higher  up,  and 
around  his  heart,  as  they  carried  him  off  the  train 
at  St.  Louis  and  stowed  him  in  an  ambulance 
thoughtfully  provided  for  by  telegraph.  In  a 
nebulous  way  it  occurred  to  him  that  Fate  had  again 
crossed  her  fingers  when  paradise  loomed  on  the 
horizon;  but  recalling  how  very  ill  he  was,  he  damned 
the  duck.  He  told  himself  that  even  if  he  should 
survive  (which  wasn't  possible),  there  could  be  no 
doubt  in  his  mind,  after  all  he  had  been  through, 
that  the  good  Lord  had  marked  him  for  a  loveless, 
friendless,  childless  man;  that  it  was  useless  to 
struggle  against  the  inevitable.  He  felt  very,  very 
sorry  for  himself  as  the  orderlies  tucked  him  into  bed 
and  a  nurse  thrust  a  thermometer  under  his  tongue. 


96  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"A  hundred  and  four  and  a  quarter,"  he  heard  her 
murmur  to  the  doctor  a  few  minutes  later. 

"No  bird  ever  flew  so  high  that  he  didn't  come 
down  to  roost,"  said  Mr.  Webster  aloud. 

The  doctor  and  the  nurse  exchanged  knowing 
glances.  They  nodded.  tThe  patient  was  already  de 
lirious — a  bad  sign. 

"Hey,  Doc,"  the  stricken  man  called.  They  bent 
over  him.  "Send — cablegram  to  Billy  Geary — tell 
him — come  home — before  that  thousand — spent — 
money — my  pocket." 

"Yes,  I  hear  you,"  the  nurse  said  soothingly. 
"And  the  address?" 

"Calle  de  Concordia,  Nineteen,  Buenaventura, 
Sobrante." 

"Say  it  again,"  the  nurse  urged  him.  "Spell  it." 
Poor  girl!  She  was  a  native  of  St.  Louis.  If  Jack 
Webster  had  mentioned  Ossawatomie  or  Canan- 
daigua,  he  would  not  have  been  called  upon  to  go 
into  details  and  waste  his  strength.  He  gasped  and 
wet  his  lips;  she  bent  to  get  the  message: 

"Damn  that  duck,"  he  whispered.  "She  had  a 
green  tailor-made  suit,  and — believe  me,  girl,  I'd 
rather  sell  my  Death  Valley — borax-claims  than — 
work  them  myself.  Free-milling  gold — catch  it  on 
amalgamating  plates — contact  between  andesite  and 
— Silurian  limestone — Billy  knows  ducks.  I  taught 
him  myself.  Come,  Neddy.  All  together  now,  you 
old — pelican.  A  little  close  harmony,  boys: 

"Let  go  the  peak  halyards, 
Let  go  the  peak  halyards, 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  97 

My  finger  is  caught  in  the  block! 
Leggo!" 

"Sounds  like  a  drinking  man,"  the  doctor  ob 
served.  "If  that's  the  case,  this  attack  will  go  hard 
with  him." 

It  did.  However,  life  had  the  habit  of  going  hard 
with  Webster  so  frequently  that  fortunately  he  was 
trained  to  the  minute,  and  after  three  days  of  heroic 
battling  the  doctor  awarded  Jack  the  decision. 
Thereafter  they  kept  him  in  the  hospital  ten  days 
longer,  "feeding  him  up"  as  the  patient  expressed  it 
— at  the  end  of  which  period  Webster,  some  fifteen 
pounds  lighter  and  not  quite  so  fast  on  his  feet  as 
formerly,  resumed  his  journey  toward  New  Orleans. 

In  u  the  meantime,  however,  several  things  had 
happened.  To  begin,  Dolores  Ruey  spent  two  days 
wondering  what  had  become  of  her  quondam  knight 
of  the  whiskers — at  the  end  of  which  period  she  ar 
rived  in  New  Orleans  with  the  conviction  strong  upon 
her  that  while  her  hero  might  be  as  courageous  as  a 
wounded  lion  when  dealing  with  men,  he  was  the 
possessor,  when  dealing  with  women,  of  about  two 
per  cent,  less  courage  than  a  cottontail  rabbit.  She 
reproached  herself  for  the  wintry  glance  she  had  cast 
upon  the  poor  fellow  that  night  at  the  Denver  railway 
station;  she  decided  that  the  amazing  Neddy  Jerome 
was  an  interfering,  impudent  old  fool  and  that  she 
had  done  an  unmaidenly  and  brazen  deed  in  replying 
to  his  ridiculous  telegram,  even  though  she  did  so 
under  an  assumed  name.  Being  a  very  human  young 
lady,  however,  she  could  not  help  wondering  what 


98  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

had  become  of  the  ubiquitous  Mr.  Webster,  although 
the  fact  that  he  had  mysteriously  disappeared  from 
the  train  en  route  to  New  Orleans  did  not  perturb 
her  one  half  so  much  as  it  had  the  disappeared  She 
hjad  this  advantage  over  that  unfortunate  man. 
Whereas  he  did  not  know  she  was  bound  for  Buena 
ventura,  she  knew  he  was;  hence,  upon  arrival  in  New 
Orleans  she  dismissed  him  from  her  thoughts,  serene 
in  abiding  faith  that  sooner  or  later  her  knight  would 
appear,  like  little  Bo-Peep9 s  lost  sheep,  dragging  his 
tail  behind  him,  so  to  speak.  The  only  regret  she 
entertained  arose  from  her  disappointment  in  the 
knowledge  of  his  real  character,  and  its  wide  variance 
from  the  heroic  attributes  with  which  she  had  en 
dowed  him.  She  had  depended  upon  him  to  be  a 
daring  devil — and  he  had  failed  to  toe  the  scratch ! 

Dolores  spent  a  week  in  New  Orleans  renewing 
schoolgirl  friendships  from  her  convent  days  in  the 
quaint  old  town.  This  stop-over,  together  with  the 
one  in  Denver,  not  having  been  taken  into  considera 
tion  by  Mr.  William  Geary  when  he  and  Mother 
Jenks  commenced  to  speculate  upon  the  approximate 
date  of  her  arrival  in  Buenaventura,  resulted  in  the 
premature  flight  of  Mother  Jenks  to  San  Miguel  de 
Padua,  a  fruitless  visit  on  the  part  of  Billy  aboard 
the  Cacique,  of  the  United  Fruit  Company's  line, 
followed  by  a  hurry  call  to  Mother  Jenks  to  return 
to  Buenaventura  until  the  arrival  of  the  next  steamer. 

This  tune  Billy's  calculations  proved  correct,  for 
Dolores  did  arrive  on  that  steamer.  It  is  also  worthy 
of  remark  here  that  shortly  after  boarding  the  vessel 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  99 

and  while  La  Estrellita  was  snoring  down  the  Mis 
sissippi,  Miss  Dolores  did  the  missing  Webster  the 
signal  honour  of  scanning  the  purser's  passenger  list 
in  a  vain  search  for  his  name. 

At  Buenaventura  the  steamer  anchored  in  tlie 
roadstead;  the  port  doctor  came  aboard,  partook  of 
his  customary  drink  with  the  captain,  received  a 
bundle  of  the  latest  American  newspapers  and  maga 
zines,  nosed  around,  asked  a  few  perfunctory  ques 
tions,  and  gave  the  vessel  pratique.  Immediately 
she  was  surrounded  by  lighters  manned  by  clamor 
ous,  half-naked  Sobranteans,  each  screaming  in  a 
horrible  patois  of  English,  Spanish,  and  good  Ameri 
can  slang  perfervid  praises  of  the  excellence  of  his 
service  compared  with  that  of  his  neighbour.  Do 
lores  was  particularly  interested  in  the  antics  of  one 
fellow  who  had  a  sign  tacked  on  a  short  signal  mast  in 
his  lighter.  "I  am  a  poor  man  with  a  large  family, 
and  my  father  was  an  American,"  the  legend  ran. 
"Kind-hearted  Americans  will  patronize  me  to  the 
exclusion  of  all  others." 

Dolores  had  made  up  her  mind  to  heed  this  pa 
thetic  appeal,  when  she  observed  a  gasolene  launch 
shoot  up  to  the  landing  at  the  foot  of  the  companion- 
ladder  and  discharge  a  well-dressed,  youthful  white 
man.  As  he  came  up  the  companion,  the  purser 
recognized  him. 

"Howdy,  Bill,"  he  called. 

"Hello,  yourself,"  Mr.  William  Geary  replied,  and 
Dolores  knew  him  for  an  American.  "  Do  you  hap 
pen  to  have  as  a  passenger  this  trip  a  large,  interest- 


100  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

ing  person,  by  name  John  Stuart  Webster?"  added 
Billy  Geary. 

"  I  don't  know,  Billy.  I'll  look  over  the  passenger- 
list." 

"No  hope,"  Billy  replied  mournfully.  "If  Jack 
Webster  was  aboard  he'd  have  got  acquainted  with 
you.  However,  take  a  look-see  to  make  certain." 

"Friend  of  yours?"  the  purser  queried. 

"You  bet.  Likewise  guide  and  philosopher.  He 
should  have  been  here  on  the  last  steamer — cabled 
me  he  was  coming,  and  I  haven't  heard  a  word  from 
him  since.  I'm  a  little  worried." 

"I'll  get  the  list,"  the  purser  announced,  and  to 
gether  they  moved  off  toward  his  office.  Dolores  fol 
lowed,  drawn  by  the  mention  of  that  magic  name 
Webster,  and  paused  n  front  of  the  purser's  office  to 
lean  over  the  rail,  ostensibly  to  watch  the  cargadores 
in  their  lighters  clustering  around  the  great  ship, 
but  in  reality  to  learn  more  of  the  mysterious  Web 
ster. 

"Blast  the  luck,"  Billy  Geary  growled,  "the  old 
sinner  isn't  here.  Gosh,  that's  worse  than  having  a 
note  called  on  a  fellow.  By  the  way,  do  you  happen 
to  have  a  Miss  Dolores  Ruey  aboard?" 

Dolores  pricked  up  her  little  ears.  What  possible 
interest  could  this  stranger  have  in  her  goings  or 
comings? 

"You  picked  a  winner  this  time,  Bill,"  she  heard 
the  purser  say.  "Stateroom  Sixteen,  boat-deck, 
starboard  side.  You'll  probably  find  her  there,  pack 
ing  to  go  ashore." 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  101 

"Thanks,"  Billy  replied  and  stepped  out  of  the 
purser's  office.  Dolores  turned  and  faced  him. 

"I  am  Miss  Ruey,"  she  announced.  "I  heard 
you  asking  for  me."  Her  eyes  carried  the  query 
she  had  not  put  into  words:  "Who  are  you,  and 
what  do  you  want?"  Billy  saw  and  understood,  and 
on  the  instant  a  wave  of  desolation  surged  over  him. 

So  this  was  the  vision  he  had  volunteered  to  meet 
aboard  La  Estrellita,  and  by  specious  lie  and  hypo- 
critic  mien,  turn  her  back  from  the  portals  of  Buena 
ventura  to  that  dear  old  United  States,  which,  Billy 
suddenly  recalled  with  poignant  pain,  is  a  sizable 
country  in  which  a  young  lady  may  very  readily  be 
lost  forever.  At  the  moment  it  occurred  to  Mr. 
Geary  that  the  apotheosis  of  rapture  would  be  a  mid 
night  stroll  in  the  moonlight  along  the  Malecon,  with 
the  little  waves  from  the  Caribbean  lapping  and 
gurgling  against  the  beach,  while  afar,  in  some  bosky 
retreat,  a  harp  with  a  flute  obbligato  sobbed  out 
"'Nita,  Juanita"  or  some  equally  heart-throb  bal 
lad.  Yes,  that  would  be  quite  a  joyous  journey — 
with  Dolores  Ruey. 

Billy,  with  the  quick  eye  of  youth,  noted  that 
Dolores  was  perfectly  wonderful  in  a  white  flannel 
skirt  and  jacket,  white  buck  boots,  white  panama 
hat  with  a  gorgeous  puggaree,  a  mannish  little  linen 
collar,  and  a  red  four-in-hand  tie.  From  under  that 
white  hat  peeped  a  profusion  of  crinkly  brown  hair 
with  a  slightly  reddish  tinge  to  it;  her  eyes  were  big 
and  brown  and  wide  apart,  with  golden  flecks  in 
them;  their  glance  met  Billy's  hungry  gaze  simply, 


102  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

directly,  and  with  'a  curiosity  there  was  no  attempt 
to  hide.  Her  complexion  was  that  peculiar  shade  of 
olive,  with  a  warm,  healthy,  underlying  tinge  that 
nobody  could  possibly  hope  to  describe,  but  which 
fits  in  so  beautifully  with  brown  eyes  of  a  certain 
shade.  Her  nose  was  patrician;  her  beautiful  short 
upper  lip  revealed  the  tips  of  two  perfect,  milk-white 
front  teeth:  she  was,  Billy  Geary  told  himself,  a  god 
dess  before  whom  all  low,  worthless,  ornery  fellows 
like  himself  should  grovel  and  die  happy,  if  per 
chance  she  might  be  so  minded  as  to  walk  on  their 
faces!  He  was  aroused  from  his  critical  inventory 
when  the  houri  spoke  again: 

"You  haven't  answered  my  question,  sir!" 

"No,"  said  Billy,  "I  didn't.  Stupid  of  me,  too. 
I  was  staring,  instead — because,  you  see,  it  isn't 
often  we  poor  expatriated  devils  down  here  climb  out 
of  Hades  long  enough  to  view  the  angels !  However, 
come  to  think  of  it,  you  didn't  ask  me  any  question. 
You  looked  it.  My  name  is  Geary — William  H. 
Geary,  by  profession  a  mining  engineer  and  by  nature 
an  ignoramus,  and  I  have  called  to  deliver  some  dis 
appointing  news  regarding  Henrietta  Wilkins." 

"Is  she " 

"  She  is.  Very  much  alive  and  in  excellent  health 
— or  rather  was,  the  last  time  it  was  my  pleasure  and 
privilege  to  call  on  the  dear  lady.  But  she  isn't  in 
Buenaventura  now."  Mentally  Billy  asked  God  to 
forgive  him  his  black-hearted  treachery  to  this  win 
some  girl.  He  loathed  the  task  he  had  planned  and 
foisted  upon  himself,  and  nothing  but  the  memory  of 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  103 

Mother  Jenks's  manifold  kindnesses  to  him  in  a  day, 
thanks  to  Jack  Webster,  now  happily  behind  him, 
could  have  induced  him  to  go  through  to  the  finish. 
Mentally  clinging  to  the  memory  of  his  obligations 
to  Mother  Jenks,  Billy  ruthlessly  smothered  his  finer 
instincts  and  with  breaking  heart  prepared  to  do  or 
die. 

"Why,  where  is  she?"  Dolores  queried,  and  Billy 
could  have  wept  at  the  fright  in  those  lovely  brown 
eyes. 

He  waved  his  hand  airily.  "Quien  sabef"  he 
said.  "She  left  three  weeks  ago  for  New  Orleans 
to  visit  you.  I  dare  say  you  passed  each  other  on  the 
road — here,  here,  Miss  Ruey,  don't  cry.  By  golly, 
this  is  a  tough  one,  I  know,  but  be  brave  and  we'll 
save  something  out  of  the  wreck  yet." 

He  took  a  recess  of  three  minutes,  while  Dolores 
dabbed  her  eyes  and  went  through  sundry  other 
motions  of  being  brave.  Then  he  proceeded  with  his 
nefarious  recital. 

"When  your  cablegram  arrived,  Miss  Ruey,  natur 
ally  Mrs.  Wilkins  was  not  here  to  receive  it,  and  as  I 
was  the  only  person  who  had  her  address,  the  cable- 
agent  referred  it  to  me.  Under  the  circumstances, 
not  knowing  where  I  could  reach  you  with  a  cable 
informing  you  that  Mrs.  Wilkins  was  headed  for 
California  to  see  you,  I  had  no  other  alternative  but 
let  matters  take  their  course.  I  decided  you  might 
arrive  on  La  Estrellita,  so  I  called  to  welcome  you  to 
our  thriving  little  city,  and,  as  a  friend  of  about  two 
minutes'  standing,  to  warn  you  away  from  it." 


104  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Billy's  mien,  as  he  voiced  this  warning,  was  so 
singularly  mysterious  that  Dolores's  curiosity  was 
aroused  instantly  and  rose  superior  to  her  grief. 
"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  she  demanded. 

Billy  looked  around,  as  if  fearful  of  being  over 
heard.  He  lowered  his  voice.  "  We're  going  to  have 
one  grand  little  first-class  revolution,"  he  replied. 
"It's  due  to  bust  almost  any  night  now,  and  when  it 
does,  the  streets  of  San  Buenaventura  will  run  red 
with  blood.  I  shudder  to  think  of  the  fate  that 
might  befall  you,  alone  and  unprotected  in  the  city, 
in  such  event." 

Dolores  blanched.  "  Oh,  dearie  me,"  she  quavered. 
"Do  they  still  have  revolutions  here?  You  know, 
Mr.  Geary,  my  poor  father  was  killed  in  one." 

"Yes,  and  the  same  old  political  gang  that  shot 
him  is  still  on  deck,"  Billy  warned  her.  "  It  would  be 
highly  dangerous  for  a  Ruey,  man  or  woman,  to  show 
his  or  her  nose  around  Buenaventura  about  now. 
Besides,  Miss  Ruey,  that  isn't  the  worst,"  he  con 
tinued,  for  a  whole-hearted  lad  was  Billy,  who  never 
did  anything  by  halves.  While  he  was  opposed  to 
lies  and  liars  on  broad,  general  principles,  neverthe 
less  whenever  the  exigencies  of  circumstance  com 
pelled  him  to  backslide,  his  Hibernian  impulsiveness 
bade  him  spin  a  yarn  worth  while.  "The  city  is 
reeking  with  cholera,"  he  declared. 

"Cholera!"  Dolores's  big  brown  eyes  grew  Digger 
with  wonder  and  concern.  ' '  Are  there  any  other  fatal 
diseases  prevalent,  Mr.  Geary?" 

"Well,  we're  not  advertising  it,  Miss  Ruey,  but  if 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  105 

I  had  an  ^nemy  to  whom  I  wanted  to  slip  a  plain 
or  fancy  case  of  bubonic  plague,  I'd  invite  him  to 
visit  me  at  Buenaventura." 

"How  strange  the  port  authorities  didn't  warn  us 
at  New  Orleans!"  Dolores  suggested. 

"Tish!  Tush!  Fiddlesticks  and  then  some.  The 
fruit  company  censors  everything,  Miss  Ruey,  and  the 
news  doesn't  get  out.  The  port  authorities  here 
would  never  admit  the  truth  of  such  reports,  because 
it  would  be  bad  for  business " 

"But  the  port  doctor  just  said  the  passengers  could 
go  ashore." 

"What's  a  human  life  to  a  doctor?  Besides,  he's 
on  the  slush-fund  pay-roll  and  does  whatever  the 
higher-ups  tell  him.  You  be  guided  by  what  I  tell 
you,  Miss  Ruey,  and  do  not  set  foot  on  Sobrantean 
soil.  Even  if  you  had  a  guarantee  that  you  could 
escape  alive,  there  isn't  a  hotel  in  the  city  you  could 
afford  to  sleep  in;  Miss  Wilkins's  house  is  closed 
up,  and  Miss  Wilkins's  servants  dismissed,  and — er 
— well,  if  you  stay  aboard  La  Estrellita,  you'll  have 
your  nice  clean  stateroom,  your  well-cooked  meals, 
your  bath,  and  the  attentions  of  the  stewardess. 
The  steamer  will  be  loaded  in  two  days;  then  you  go 
back  to  New  Orleans,  and  by  the  time  you  arrive 
there  I'll  have  been  in  communication  by  cable  with 
Mother  Jenks — I  mean " 

"Mother  who?"  Dolores  demanded. 

"A  mere  slip  of  the  tongue,  Miss  Ruey.  I  was 
thinking  of  my  landlady.  I  meant  Mrs.  Wil- 
kins " 


106  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"You  mean  Miss  Wilkins,"  Dolores  corrected  him 
smilingly. 

"So  I  do.  Of  course,  Miss  Wilkins.  Well,  I'll 
cable  her  you're  on  your  way  back,  and  if  you'll 
leave  me  your  New  Orleans  address,  I'll  have  her  get 
in  touch  with  you,  and  then  you  can  have  your  nice 
little  visit  far  from  the  madding  crowd's  ignoble  strife 
and  the  death-dealing  sting  of  the  yellow-fever 
mosquito." 

"I'm  so  awfully  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Geary. 
You're  so  kind,  I'm  sure  I'd  be  a  most  ungrateful 
girl  not  to  be  guided  by  you  accordingly.  You 
wouldn't  risk  any  friend  of  yours  in  this  terrible 
place,  would  you,  Mr.  Geary?" 

"Indeed,  I  would  not.  By  permitting  anybody  I 
thought  anything  of  to  come  to  this  city,  I  should  feel 
guilty  of  murder." 

"I'm  sure  you  would,  Mr.  Geary.  Nevertheless, 
there  is  one  point  that  is  not  quite  clear  in  my  mind, 
and  I  wish  you'd  explain " 

"Command  me,  Miss  Ruey." 

"If  this  is  such  a  frightful  place,  why  are  you  so 
anxious,  if  I  may  employ  such  language,  to  horns- 
woggle  your  dearest  friend,  Mr.  John  S.  Webster, 
into  coming  down  here?  Do  you  want  to  kill  him 
and  get  his  money — or  what?" 

Billy's  face  flamed  at  thought  of  the  embarrassing 
trap  his  glib  tongue  had  led  him  into.  He  cursed 
himself  for  a  star-spangled  jackass,  and  while  he  was 
engaged  in  this  interesting  pastime  Dolores  spoke 
again. 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  107 

"And  by  the  way,  which  is  it?  Miss  Wilkins  or 
Mrs.  ?  You've  called  her  both,  and  when  I  reminded 
you  she  was  a  Miss,  you  agreed  with  me,  whereas  she 
is  nothing  of  the  sort.  She's  a  Mrs.  Then  you 
blurted  out  something  about  a  Mother  Jenks,  and 
finally,  Mr.  Geary,  it  occurs  to  me  that  for  a  com 
plete  stranger  you  are  unduly  interested  in  my  wel 
fare.  I'm  not  such  a  goose  as  to  assimilate  your 
weird  tales  of  death  from  disease.  I  might  have 
accepted  the  revolution,  because  I  know  it's  the 
national  outdoor  sport  down  here,  and  I  might  have 
eccepted  the  cholera,  because  it  wouldn't  surprise 
me;  but  when  you  so  artlessly  throw  in  bubonic 
plague  and  yellow  fever  for  good  measure,  Mr.  Geary, 
you  tax  my  credulity.  It  occurs  to  me  that  if  your 
friend  John  S.  Webster  can  risk  Buenaventura,  I  can 
also." 

"You — you  know  that  old  tarantula?"  Billy 
gasped.  "Why  I — I  came  out  to  warn  him  off  the 
grass,  too." 

Dolores  walked  a  step  closer  to  Billy  and  eyed  him 
disapprovingly.  "I'm  so  sorry  I  can't  believe  that 
statement,"  she  replied.  "With  the  exception  of 
your  tendency  toward  fiction,  you're  rather  a  pre 
sentable  young  man,  too.  It's  really  too  bad,  but  it 
happens  that  I  was  standing  by  the  companion-ladder 
when  you  came  aboard  and  spoke  to  the  purser;  when 
you  asked  him  if  Mr.  Webster  was  aboard,  your  face 
was  alight  with  eagerness  and  anticipation,  but  when 
you  had  reason  to  believe  he  was  not  aboard,  you 
looked  so  terribly  disappointed  I  felt  sorry  for  you." 


108  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"  Well,  of  course  I  would  have  been  delighted  to  meet 
the  old  boy,"  Billy  began,  but  she  interrupted  him. 

"Mr.  Geary,  you're  about  as  reliable  as  a  Los 
Angeles  thermometer — and  if  you've  ever  lived  in  a 
town  the  main  asset  of  which  is  climate,  you  know 
just  how  reliable  you  are.  Now,  let  us  understand 
each  other,  Mr.  Geary :  If  you  think  I'm  the  kind  of 
simple,  trusting  little  country  maid  who  would  come 
within  half  a  mile  of  the  land  of  her  birth  and  then 
run  back  home  because  somebody  said  'Boo!'  you 
are  not  nearly  so  intelligent  as  you  look.  I'm  going 
ashore,  if  it's  the  last  act  of  my  life,  and  when  I  get 
there  I'm  going  to  interview  the  cable  agent;  then 
I'm  going  to  call  at  the  steamship  office  and  scan 
the  passenger  list  of  the  last  three  north-bound 
steamers,  and  if  I  do  not  find  Henrietta  Wilkins's 
name  on  one  of  those  passenger  lists  I'm  going  up  to 
Calle  de  Concordia  Number  Nineteen " 

"I  surrender  unconditionally,"  groaned  Billy. 
"I'm  a  liar  from  beginning  to  end.  I  overlooked  my 
hand.  I  forgot  that  while  you  were  born  in  this 
country  and  bred  from  several  generations  of  So- 
branteans,  you  were  raised  in  the  U.  S.  A.  I  beg 
of  you  to  believe  me,  however,  when  I  tell  you  that  I 
only  told  you  those  whoppers  because  I  was  in  honour 
bound  to  tell  them.  Personally,  I  don't  want  you  to 
go  away — at  least,  not  until  I'm  ready  to  go  away, 
too!  Miss  Ruey,  my  nose  is  in  the  dust.  On  my 
lying  head  there  is  a  ton  of  ashes  and  a  thousand 
running  yards  of  sackcloth.  There  is  a  fever  in  my 
brain  and  a  misery  in  my  heart " 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  109 

"And  contrition  in  your  face,"  she  interrupted  him 
laughingly.  "You're  forgiven,  Mr.  Geary — on  one 
condition." 

"Name  it,"  he  answered. 

"Tell  me  everything  from  beginning  to  end." 

So  Billy  told  her,  for  there  are  some  women  in  this 
world  to  whom  a  man  with  a  poker  face,  the  imagina 
tion  of  a  Verne,  and  the  histrionic  art  of  an  Irving 
cannot — nay,  dare  not — tell  a  lie.  "I  would  much 
rather  have  been  visited  with  a  plague  of  boils,  like 
our  old  friend,  the  late  Job,  than  have  to  tell  you  this, 
Miss  Ruey,"  Bill  concluded  his  recital.  "Man  pro 
poses,  but  God  disposes,  and  you're  here  and  bound 
to  learn  the  truth  sooner  or  later.  Mother  isn't  a 
lady  and  she  knows  it,  but  take  it  from  me,  Miss 
Ruey,  she's  a  grand  old  piece  of  work.  She's  a  scout 
— a  ring-tailed  sport — a  regular  individual  and  game 
as  a  gander." 

"In  other  words,"  Dolores  replied  smilingly,  "she 
has  a  heart  of  gold." 

"Twenty-four  carat,  all  wool  and  a  yard  wide," 
Billy  declared,  mixed-metaphorically. 

"And  I  mustn't  call  at  El  Buen  Amigo,  Mr. 
Geary?" 

"Perish  the  thought!  Mother  must  call  on  you. 
El  Buen  Amigo  is  what  you  might  term  a  hotel  for 
tropical  tramps  of  the  masculine  sex.  Nearly  all 
of  Mother's  guests  have  a  past,  you  know.  They're 
the  submerged  white  tenth  of  Sobrante." 

"Then  my  benefactor  must  call  to  see  me  here?" 
Billy  nodded.  "When  will  you  bring  her  here?" 


110  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Billy  reflected  that  Mother  Jenks  had  been  up 
rather  late  the  night  before  and  that  trade  in  the 
cantina  of  El  Buen  Amigo  had  been  unusually  brisk; 
so  since  he  desired  to  exhibit  the  old  lady  at  her 
best,  he  concluded  it  might  be  well  to  spar  for 
wind. 

"To-morrow  at  ten,"  he  declared.  Dolores  in 
clined  her  head.  Something  told  her  she  had  better 
leave  all  future  details  to  the  amiable  William. 

"I  take  it  you  are  a  guest  at  El  Buen  Amigo,  Mr. 
Geary,"  she  continued. 

"Oh,  yes.  I've  been  a  guest  for  about  two  weeks 
now;  before  that  I  was  an  encumbrance.  Now  I'm 
paying  my  way — thanks  to  an  old  side-kicker  of 
mine,  Jack  Webster." 

"But  surely  you're  not  a  tropical  tramp,  Mr. 
Geary?" 

"I  was,  but  Jack  Webster  reformed  me,"  Billy 
answered  quizzically.  "You  know — power  of  wealth 
and  all  that." 

"I  remember  you  inquired  for  your  friend  Mr. 
Webster  when  you  came  aboard  the  steamer." 

"I  remember  it,  too,"  Billy  countered  ruefully. 
"I  can't  imagine  what's  become  of  him.  I  suppose 
I'll  have  a  cable  from  him  any  day,  though,  telling 
me  he'll  be  along  on  the  next  steamer.  Miss  Ruey, 
did  you  ever  go  to  meet  the  only  human  being  in  the 
world  and  discover  that  for  some  mysterious  reason 
he  had  failed  to  keep  the  appointment?  If  you  ever 
have,  you'll  know  just  how  cheerful  I  felt  when  I 
didn't  find  Jack's  name  on  the  passenger  list.  Miss 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  111 

Ruey,  you'll  have  to  meet  old  John  Stuart  the  minute 
he  lights  in  Buenaventura.  He's  some  boy." 

"Old  John  Stuart?"  she  queried.    "How  old?" 

"Oh,  thirty-nine  or  forty  on  actual  count,  but  one 
of  the  kind  that  will  live  to  be  a  thousand  and  then 
have  to  be  killed  with  an  axe.  He's  coming  to  So- 
brante  to  help  me  put  over  a  mining  deal." 

"How  interesting,  Mr.  Geary!  No  wonder  you 
were  disappointed." 

The  last  sentence  was  a  shaft  deliberately  launched; 
to  Dolores's  delight  it  made  a  keyhole  in  Billy  Geary's 
heart. 

"Don't  get  me  wrong,  Miss  Ruey,"  he  hastened 
to  assure  her.  "I  have  a  good  mine,  but  I'd  trade  it 
for  a  hand-shake  from  Jack!  The  good  Lord  only 
published  one  edition  of  Jack,  and  limited  the  edition 
to  one  volume;  then  the  plates  were  melted  for  the 
junk  we  call  the  human  race." 

"Oh,  do  tell  me  all  about  him,"  Dolores  pleaded. 
Billy,  always  interested  in  his  favourite  topic,  beamed 
with  boyish  pleasure.  "No,"  he  said,  "I'll  not  tell 
you  about  him,  Miss  Ruey.  I'll  just  let  him  speak 
for  himself.  We  used  to  be  as  close  to  each  other  as 
peas  in  a  pod,  back  in  Colorado,  and  then  I  made  a 
monkey  of  myself  and  shook  old  Jack  without  even 
saying  good-bye.  Miss  Ruey,  my  action  didn't  even 
dent  his  friendship  for  me.  Two  weeks  ago,  when  I 
was  sick  and  penniless  and  despairing,  the  possessor 
of  a  concession  on  a  fortune  but  without  a  centavo 
in  my  pockets  to  buy  a  banana,  when  I  was  a  veritable 
beach-comber  and  existing  on  the  charity  of  Mother 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Jenks,  I  managed  finally  to  communicate  with  old 
Jack  and  told  him  where  I  was  and  what  I  had. 
There's  his  answer,  Miss  Ruey,  and  I'm  not  ashamed 
to  say  that  when  I  got  it  I  cried  like  a  kid."  And 
Billy  handed  her  John  Stuart  Webster's  remarkable 
cablegram,  the  receipt  of  which  had,  for  Billy  Geary, 
transformed  night  into  day,  purgatory  into  paradise. 
Dolores  read  it. 

"No  wonder  you  love  him,"  she  declared,  and 
added  artlessly:  "His  wife  must  simply  adore  him." 

"'He  has  no  wife  to  bother  his  life,  so  he  paddles 
his  own  canoe,'"  Billy  recited.  "I  don't  believe  the 
old  sour-dough  has  ever  been  in  love  with  anything 
more  charming  than  the  goddess  of  fortune.  He's 
womanproof." 

"About  Mrs.  Jenks,"  Dolores  continued,  abruptly 
changing  the  subject.  "How  nice  to  reflect  that 
after  she  had  trusted  you  and  believed  in  you  when 
you  were  penniless,  you  were  enabled  to  justify  her 
faith.' 

"You  bet!"  Billy  declared.  "I  feel  that  I  can 
never  possibly  hope  to  catch  even  with  thejold 
Samaritan,  although  I  did  try  to  show  her  how  much 
I  appreciated  her." 

"I  dare  say  you  went  right  out  and  bought  her  an 
impossible  hat,"  Dolores  challenged  roguishly. 

"  No,  I  didn't — f  or  a  very  sufficient  reason.     Pown 
here  the  ladies  do  not  wear  hats.     But  I'll  tejl  ,you 
what  I  did  buy  her,  Miss  Ruey — and  oh,  by  Geo?xc. 
I'm  glad  now  I  did  it.     She'll  wear  them  to-mor 
when  I  bring  her  to  see  you.     I  bought  her  a  new 


,ir.  William   H.    Geary"  the  girl    remarked  that  night, 
*  "/  know  now  why  your  friend  Mr.  Webster  sent  that 
.4  cablegram.     I  think  you're  a  scout,  too" 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  113 

black  silk  dress  and  an  old  lace  collar,  and  a  gold 
breast-pin  and  a  tortoise-shell  hair  comb  and  hired 
an  open  carriage  and  took  her  for  an  evening  ride 
on  the  Malecon  to  listen  to  the  band  concert." 

"Did  she  like  that?" 

"She  ate  it  up,"  Billy  declared  with  conviction. 
"I  think  it  was  her  first  adventure  in  democracy." 

Billy's  pulse  was  still  far  from  normal  when  he 
reached  El  Buen  Amigo,  for  he  was  infused  with  a 
strange,  new-found  warm,  h  that  burned  like  malarial 
fever  but  wasn't.  He  wasted  no  preliminaries  on 
Mother  Jenks,  but  bluntly  acquainted  her  with  the 
facts  in  the  case. 

Mother  Jenks  eyed  him  a  moment  wildly.  "  Gord's 
truth!"  she  gasped;  she  reached  for  her  favourite 
elixir,  but  Billy  got  the  bottle  first. 

"Nothing  doing,"  he  warned  this  strange  publican. 
"Mother,  you're  funJdng  it — and  what  would  your 
sainted  'Enery  say  to  that?  Do  you  want  that 
angel  to  kiss  you  and  get  a  whiff  of  this  brandy?" 

Mother  Jenks's  eyes  actually  popped.  "Gor', 
Willie,"  she  gasped,  "'aven't  Hi  told  yer  she's  a 
lydy !  Me  kiss  the  lamb !  Hi  trusts,  Mr.  Geary,  as 
'ow  I  knows  my  plyce  an'  can  keep  it." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Billy  soothed  the  frightened  old 
woman,  "but  the  trouble  is  Miss  Dolores  doesn't 
know  hers — and  something  tells  me  if  she  does,  she'll 
forget  it.  She'll  take  you  in  her  arms  and  kiss  you, 
sure  as  death  and  taxes." 

And  she  did!  "My  lamb,  my  lamb,"  sobbed 
Mother  Jenks  the  next  morning,  and  rested  her  old 


114  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

cheek,  with  its  rum-begotten  hue,  close  to  the  rose- 
tinted  ivory  cheek  of  her  ward.  "Me — wot  I  am — 
an'  to  think " 

"You're  a  sweet  old  dear,"  Dolores  whispered, 
patting  the  gray  head;  "and  I'm  going  to  call  you 
Mother." 

"Mr.  William  H.  Geary,"  the  girl  remarked  that 
night,  "I  know  now  why  your  friend  Mr.  Webster 
sent  that  cablegram.  I  thhik  you're  a  scout,  too." 

For  reasons  best  know^i  to  himself  Mr.  Geary 
blushed  furiously.  "I — I'd  better  go  and  break 
the  news  to  Mother,"  he  suggested  inanely.  She 
held  out  her  hand;  and  Billy,  having  been  long 
enough  in  Sobrante  to  have  acquired  the  habit,  bent 
his  malarial  person  over  that  hand  and  kissed  it. 
As  he  went  out  it  occurred  to  him  that  had  the  lobby 
of  the  Hotel  Mateo  been  paved  with  eggs,  he  must 
have  floated  over  them  like  a  Wraith,  so  light  did  he 
feel  within. 


CHAPTER  TEN 

WEBSTER  reached  New  Orleans  at  the  end 
of  the  first  leg  of  his  journey,  to  discover 
that  in  the  matter  of  sailings  he  was  not 
fortunate.     He  was  one  day  late  to  board  the  Atlanta 
— a  banana  boat  of  the  Consolidated  Fruit  Com 
pany's  line  plying  regularly  between  New  Orleans  and 
that  company's  depots  at  Limon  and  San  Buena 
ventura — which  necessitated  a  wait  of  three  days  for 
the  steamer  La  Estrellita  of  the  Caribbean  Mail  Line, 
running  to  Caracas  and  way  ports. 

This  delay  annoyed  him,  for  he  was  the  kind  of 
man  who,  once  he  has  made  up  his  mind  to  embark 
upon  a  venture,  is  impatient  to  be  up  and  doing. 
Accordingly,  he  decided  to  visit  the  ticket  office  of 
the  Caribbean  Mail  Line  immediately  and  avoid  the 
rush  in  case  the  travel  should  be  heavy — in  which 
event  a  delay  of  an  hour  might  be  fatal — for  should 
he  be  informed  that  the  space  on  La  Estrellita  was 
entirely  sold  out,  the  knowledge  would,  he  knew,  set 
his  reason  tottering  on  its  throne. 

The  steamship  office  was  in  Canal  Street.  Webster 
arrived  there  during  the  luncheon  hour,  due  to  which 
fact  he  found  but  one  clerk  on  duty  at  the  'ticket 
counter  when  he  entered.  This  clerk  was  waiting 
on  two  well-dressed  and  palpably  low-bred  sons  of 

115 


116  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

the  tropics,  to  whom  he  had  just  displayed  a  pas 
senger  list  which  the  two  were  scanning  critically. 
Their  interest  in  it  was  so  obvious  that  unconsciously 
Webster  peeped  over  their  shoulders  (no  difficult 
task  for  one  of  his  stature)  and  discovered  it  to  be 
the  passenger  list  of  the  steamer  La  Estrellita.  They 
were  conversing  together  in  low  tones  and  Webster, 
who  had  spent  many  years  of  his  life  following  his 
profession  in  Mexico,  recognized  their  speech  as  the 
bastard  Spanish  of  the  peon. 

The  clerk  glanced  up,  caught  Webster's  eye  and 
nodded  to  indicate  that  he  would  attend  him  directly. 

"No  hurry,  old  timer,"  Webster  told  him,  with  the 
bluff,  free-and-easy  democracy  of  the  man  of  broad, 
unkenned  horizons.  "Just  save  a  place  on  that  pas 
senger  list  for  my  John  Hancock  when  our  friends 
here  have  finished  with  it." 

He  sat  down  in  the  long  wall  seat  and  waited  until 
the  pair,  having  completed  their  scrutiny  of  the  list, 
turned  to  pass  out.  He  glanced  at  them  casually. 

Theirs  were  faces  ordinary  enough  south  of  the 
Rio  Grande  but  not  likely  to  pass  unnoticed  in  a 
northern  crowd.  One  was  a  tall  thin  man  whose 
bloodshot  eyes  were  inclined  to  "pop"  a  little — infal 
lible  evidence  in  the  Latin-American  that  he  is 
drinking  more  hard  liquor  than  is  good  for  him.  He 
was  smooth-shaven,  of  pronounced  Indian  type,  and 
wore  considerable  expensive  jewellery. 

His  companion  was  plainly  of  the  same  racial 
stock,  although  Webster  suspected  him  of  a  slight 
admixture  of  negro  blood.  He  was  short,  stocky, 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  117 

and  aggressive  looking; like  his  companion,  bejewelled 
:and  possessed  of  a  thin,  carefully  cultivated  mous 
tache  that  seemed  to  consist  of  about  nineteen  hairs 
on  one  side  and  twenty  on  the  other.  Evidently 
once  upon  a  time,  as  the  story  books  have  it,  he  had 
been  shot.  Webster  suspected  a  Mauser  bullet, 
fired  at  long  range.  It  had  entered  his  right  cheek, 
just  below  the  malar,  ranged  downward  through  his 
mouth  and  out  through  a  fold  of  flabby  flesh  under 
his  left  jowl.  It  must  have  been  a  frightful  wound, 
but  it  had  healed  well  except  at  the  point  of  entrance, 
where  it  had  a  tendency  to  pucker  considerably, 
thus  drawing  the  man's  eyelid  down  on  his  cheek 
and  giving  to  that  visual  organ  something  of  the 
appearance  of  a  bulldog's. 

Both  men  observed  Webster's  swift  but  intense 
appraisal  of  them,  and  he  of  the  puckered  eye — 
perhaps  because  he  was  the  cynosure  of  that  scrutiny 
and  morbidly  sensitive  of  his  facial  disfigurement — - 
replied  with  a  cool,  sullen  stare  that  was  almost  bel 
ligerent. 

Webster  gazed  after  them  whimsically  as  he  ap 
proached  the  counter. 

"I'd  hate  to  wake  up  some  night  and  find  that 
hombre  with  the  puckered  eye  leaning  over  me.  To 
what  branch  of  the  genus  Greaser  do  those  two  horse- 
thieves  belong?"  he  queried. 

"Central  America,  I  take  it,"  the  clerk  answered. 
"They  appear  interested  in  the  names  of  passengers 
bound  for  Caribbean  ports.  Looking  for  a  friend,  I 
suppose." 


118  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Hardly.  I  speak  their  kind  of  Spanish  and  a 
peon  doesn't  refer  to  his  friends  in  the  free-and-easy 
language  these  fellows  employed.  By  the  way," 
he  continued,  suddenly  apprehensive,  "do  you  get 
much  of  that  paraqueet  travel  on  your  line?" 

"About  80  per  cent,  of  it  is  off  colour,  sir." 

Webster  pondered  the  80-per-cent.  probability  of 
being  berthed  in  the  same  stateroom  with  one  of 
these  people  and  the  prospect  was  as  revolting  to  him 
as  would  be  an  uninvited  negro  guest  at  the  dining 
table  of  a  southern  family.  He  had  all  a  Westerner's 
hatred  for  the  breed. 

"Well,  I  want  a  ticket  to  San  Buenaventura,"  he 
informed  the  clerk,  "but  I  don't  relish  the  idea  of  a 
Greaser  in  the  same  stateroom  with  me.  I  wonder 
if  you  couldn't  manage  to  fix  me  up  with  a  state 
room  all  to  myself,  or  at  least  arrange  it  so  that  in  the 
event  of  company  I'll  draw  a  white  man.  I  can 
stand  a  slovenly  white  man  where  a  clean  peon 
would  be  unbearable,  although — peon  or  caballero — 
these  people  are  apt  to  be  tarred  with  the  same  stick. 
I  don't  care  for  any  of  them  in  mine." 

"I'm  sorry,  sir,  but  I  cannot  guarantee  you  abso 
lute  privacy  nor  any  kind  of  white  man.  It's  pretty 
mixed  travel  to  all  Central  American  ports." 

"How  many  berths  in  your  first-class  staterooms?" 

"Two." 

Webster  smiled  brightly.  He  had  found  a  way 
out  of  the  difficulty.  "I'll  buy  'em  both,  son,"  he 
announced. 

"I  cannot  sell  you  an  entire  stateroom,  sir.     It's 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  119 

against  the  orders  of  the  company  to  sell  two  berths 
to  one  man.  The  travel  is  pretty  brisk  and  it's 
hardly  fair  to  the  public,  you  know." 

"Well,  suppose  I  buy  one  ticket  for  myself  and  the 
other  for — well,  for  my  valet,  let  us  say.  Of  course," 
he  added  brightly,  "I  haven't  engaged  the  valet 
yet  and  even  should  I  do  so  I  wouldn't  be  at  all  sur 
prised  if  the  rascal  missed  the  boat!" 

The  clerk  glanced  at  him  with  a  slow  smile,  and 
pondered.  "Well,"  he  said  presently,  "it's  a  poor 
rule  that  hasn't  its  exception,  and  when  it  comes  to 
killing  cats,  strangulation  with  a  butter-ball  isn't 
the  only  method.  If  you  care  to  buy  a  ticket  for 
your  valet,  I'm  sure  I  shouldn't  worry  whether  or  not 
he  catches  the  boat.  If  my  records  show  that  the 
space  is  sold  of  two  men  and  the  purser  collects  two 
tickets,  I  think  you'll  be  pretty  safe  from  intrusion." 

"To  the  harassed  traveller,"  said  Mr.  Webster, 
"a  meeting  with  a  gentleman  of  your  penetration  is 
as  refreshing  as  a  canteen  of  cool  water  in  the  desert. 
Shoot!"  and  he  produced  a  handful  of  gold. 

"I  will — provided  I  have  one  empty  cabin,"  and 
the  clerk  turned  from  the  counter  to  consult  his 
record  of  berths  already  sold  and  others  reserved 
but  not  paid  for.  Presently  he  faced  Webster  at 
the  counter. 

"  The  outlook  is  very  blue,"  he  announced.  " Every 
name  on  the  passenger  list  has  a  preponderance  of 
vowels  in  it.  However,  I  have  one  berth  in  No.  34 
reserved  by  a  gentleman  who  was  to  call  for  it  by 
two  o'clock  to-day."  He  looked  at  his  watch.  "It 


120  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

is  now  a  quarter  of  one.  If  the  reservation  isn't 
claimed  promptly  at  two  o'clock  I  shall  cancel  it  and 
reserve  for  you  both  berths  in  that  room.  If  you 
will  be  good  enough  to  leave  me  your  name  and  ad 
dress  I  will  telephone  you  after  that  hour.  In  the 
meantime,  you  may  make  reservation  of  the  other 
berth  in  the  same  stateroom.  I  feel  very  confident 
that  the  reservation  in  No.  34  will  not  be  called  for, 
Mr.— er " 

"Webster — John  S.  Webster.  You  are  very  kind, 
indeed.  I'm  at  the  St.  Charles." 

"Be  there  at  a  quarter  after  two,  Mr.  Webster, 
and  you  will  hear  from  me  promptly  on  the  minute," 
the  clerk  assured  him;  whereupon  Webster  paid  for 
one  berth  and  departed  for  his  hotel  with  a  feeling 
that  the  clerk's  report  would  be  favourable. 

True  to  his  promise,  at  precisely  a  quarter  after 
two,  the  ticket  clerk  telephoned  Webster  at  his  hotel 
that  the  berth  in  No.  34  had  been  cancelled  and  the 
entire  stateroom  was  now  at  his  disposal. 

"If  you  will  be  good  enough  to  give  me  the  name 
of  your  valet,"  he  concluded,  "it  will  not  be  necessary 
for  you  to  come  down  for  your  tickets,  Mr.  Webster. 
I  will  fill  in  both  names  on  my  passenger  manifest  and 
send  the  tickets  to  your  hotel  by  messenger  immedi 
ately.  You  can  then  sign  the  tickets — I  have  already 
signed  them  as  witness — and  pay  the  messenger." 

"Well,  I  haven't  engaged  that  valet  as  yet," 
Webster  began,  but  the  other  interrupted  cheerfully  : 

"What's  the  odds?  He's  going  to  miss  the  boat, 
anyhow.  All  I  require  is  a  name." 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  121 

"That  ought  to  be  a  simple  request  to  comply 
with.  Let  me  see!  If  I  had  a  valet  I  think  I  should 
want  him  to  be  called  Andrew  or  Martin." 

"I  read  a  book  once,  Mr.  Webster,  and  the  valet 
in  that  book  was  called  Andrew  Bowers." 

"Bowers  is  a  fine  old  English  name.  Let  us  seek  no 
further.  Andrew  Bowers  it  is." 

"Thank  you.  All  you  have  to  do  then  is  to  re 
member  to  sign  the  name,  Andrew  Bowers,  to  one 
ticket.  Don't  forget  your  valet's  name  now,  and  ball 
everything  up,"  and  the  clerk  hung  up,  laughing. 

Half  an  hour  later  a  boy  from  the  steamship  office 
arrived  with  the  tickets,  collected  for  them,  and  de 
parted,  leaving  John  Stuart  Webster  singularly 
pleased  with  himself  and  at  peace  with  the  entire 
world. 


(CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

A  "LARGE"  dinner  at    Antoine's    that   nigh 
(Webster  had  heard  of  Antoine's  dinners,  hot] 
large  and  small  and  was  resolved  not  to  leave 
New  Orleans  until  he  had  visited  the  famous  restaur 
ant),  and  a  stroll  through  the  picturesque  old  Frencl 
quarter  and  along  the  levee  next  day,  helped  to  ren 
der  his  enforced  stay  in  New  Orleans  delightful 
interesting,  and  instructive.     Webster  was  one  o: 
those  distinctful  individual  types  to  whom  a  cham 
ber  of  horrors  would  be  productive  of  more  enjoy 
ment  than  the  usual  round  of  "points  of  interest.5 
Experience   had    demonstrated    to   him   that    sue! 
points  usually  are  uninteresting  and  wearing  on  the 
imagination,  for  the  reason  that  the  tourist  trappers 
and  proprietors  of  automobile  'buses,  who  map  ou 
the  tours  have  no  imagination  themselves.     Conse 
quently,  Webster  preferred  to  prowl  around  quietly 
on  little  tours  of  discovery,  personally  conducte< 
by  himself.     The  search  for  obscure  restaurants  o 
unquestioned  merit  was  with  him  almost  a  mania 
and  since  in  quaint  New  Orleans  the  food  and  drink 
specialist  finds  his  highest  heaven,  no  cloud  marked 
the  serenity  of  his  delightful  peregrinations. 

The  next  day  would  be  Sunday,   and  Webster 
planned  an  early  morning  visit  to  the  old  French 

122 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  123 


market,  around  which  still  lingers  much  of  the  pic 
turesque  charm  and  colourful  romance  of  a  day  that 
is  done — that  echo  of  yesterday,  as  it  were,  which 
has  left  upon  New  Orleans  an  individuality  as  dis 
tinct  as  that  which  the  olden,  golden,  godless  days 
have  left  upon  San  Francisco. 

He  rose  before  six  o'clock,  therefore;  found  a  taxi, 
with  the  driver  sound  asleep  inside,  at  the  curb  in 
front  of  the  hotel;  gave  the  latter  his  instructions, 
and  climbed  in. 

It  being  Sunday  morning  New  Orleans  slept  late. 
Save  for  the  few  early  morning  worshippers  hurrying 
to  mass — mostly  servants  in  a  hurry  to  return  to 
their  kitchens  and  cook  breakfast — the  streets  were 
deserted.  The  languorous  air  of  dawn  was  redolent 
of  the  perfume  of  orange,  rose,  and  sweet  olive;  from 
!  the  four  corners  of  the  old  town  the  mellow  chimes  of 
i  the  Catholic  church  bells  pealed  their  sweet,  insistent 
call  to  the  faithful ;  an  atmosphere  of  subtle  peace  and 
sanctity  pervaded  the  silent  streets  and  awoke  in 
John  Stuart  Webster's  heart  a  vague  nostalgia. 

Perhaps  it  was  because  so  much  of  his  life  had 
been  spent  in  lonely  mountain  or  desert  camps,  or 
perhaps  it  was  because  this  taxi  ride  through  the 
pleasant  southern  dawn  was  so  typical  of  the  swift 
passing  of  the  youth  which  had  gone  from  him  before 
he  had  had  an  opportunity  to  taste,  even  moderately, 
of  its  joys  and  allurements.  He  sighed — a  little  re 
gretful  sigh. 

"That's  you,  Johnny  Webster,"  he  told  himself, 
"breezing  along  through  life  like  a  tin-canned  dog; 


124  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

passing  the  sweet  and  the  beautiful  and  battling 
with  the  harsh  and  unlovely;  here  to-day  and  gone 
to-morrow,  a  poor  harried  devil  with  your  trunk  on 
your  back,  a  slave  to  the  call  of  gold;  restless,  in  a 
great  hurry  to  get  there  and  an  equal  hurry  to  leave 
for  the  new  diggings,  and  all  the  time  Life  passes  you 
by  and  you  don't  grab  so  much  as  a  tail  feather! 
On  such  a  morn  as  this  Eve  entered  the  Garden  of 
Eden,  while  I,  consummate  idiot,  shut  myself  up  in  a 
taxi  to  watch  a  bill  of  expense  run  up  on  the  clock, 
while  sniffing  myrrh  and  incense  through  this  con 
founded  window.  I'll  get  out  and  walk!" 

He  was  opposite  Jackson  Square  and  the  cloying 
sweetness  of  palmetto,  palm,  and  fig  burdened  the  air. 
Above  the  rumble  of  the  taxi  he  could  hear  the  dis 
tant  babel  of  voices  in  the  French  market  across  the 
square,  so  he  halted  the  taxicab,  alighted,  and  handed 
the  driver  a  bill. 

"I  want  to  explore  this  square,"  he  said.  He  had 
recognized  it  by  the  heroic  statue  of  General  Jackson 
peeping  through  the  trees.  "I'll  walk  through  the 
square  to  the  market,  and  you  may  proceed  to  the 
market  and  meet  me  there.  Later  we  will  return 
to  the  hotel." 

The  chauffeur  nodded,  and  Webster,  every  fibre 
of  his  alert,  healthy  body  once  more  tingling  with  the 
sheer  joy  of  living,  entered  the  square,  found  a  path 
that  wound  its  way  through  the  shrubbery,  and  came 
out  at  length  in  the  main  pathway,  close  to  the 
Jackson  memorial  statue. 

A  Creole  girl — starry-eyed,  beautiful,  rich  with  the 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  125 

glorious  colouring  of  her  race — passed  him  bound  for 
the  cathedral  across  the  square,  as  Webster  thought, 
for  she  carried  a  large  prayer  book  on  her  arm.  To 
Webster  she  seemed  to  fit  perfectly  into  her  sur 
roundings,  to  lend  to  them  the  last,  final  touch  of 
beauty,  the  apotheosis  of  peace,  and  again  the  nos 
talgic  fever  submerged  the  quiet  joy  with  which  he 
had  approached  his  journey  through  the  square. 
His  glance  followed  the  girl  down  the  walk. 

Presently  she  halted.  A  young  man  rose  from  a 
bench  where  evidently  he  had  been  waiting  for  her, 
and  bowed  low,  his  hat  clasped  to  his  breast,  as  only 
a  Frenchman  or  a  Spanish  grandee  can  bow.  W'eb- 
ster  saw  the  Creole  girl  turn  to  him  with  a  little  ges 
ture  of  pleasure.  She  extended  her  hand  and  the 
young  man  kissed  it  with  old-fashioned  courtesy. 

John  Stuart  Webster  knew  now  what  was  missing 
in  his  scheme  of  things,  as  with  reverent  and  wistful 
eyes  he  watched  their  meeting. 

"Forty  years  old,"  he  thought,  "and  I  haven't 
spoken  to  a  dozen  women  that  caused  me  a  second 
thought,  or  who  weren't  postmistresses  or  biscuit 
shooters!  Forty  years  old  and  I've  never  been  in 
love!  Spring  time  down  that  little  path  and  Indian 
summer  in  my  old  fool  heart.  Why,  I  ought  to  be 
arrested  for  failure  to  live!" 

The  lovers  were  walking  slowly,  arm  in  arm,  back 
along  the  path  by  which  the  girl  had  come,  so  with  a 
courtesy  and  gentleness  that  were  innate  in  him, 
Webster  stepped  out  of  sight  behind  the  statue  of 
Old  Hickory;  for  he  did  not  desire,  by  his  mere 


126  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

presence,  to  intrude  a  discordant  note  in  the  perfect 
harmony  of  those  two  human  hearts.  He  knew  they 
desired  that  sylvan  path  to  themselves;  that  evi 
dently  they  had  sought  their  early  morning  tryst  in 
the  knowledge  that  the  square  was  likely  to  be  de 
serted  at  this  hour.  Therefore,  to  provoke  self- 
consciousness  in  them  now  savoured  to  John  Stuart 
Webster  of  a  high  crime  and  misdemeanour,  for  which 
reason  he  was  careful  to  keep  General  Jackson  be 
tween  himself  and  the  lovers  until  they  had  gone  by. 

The  young  man  was  speaking  as  they  passed;  his 
voice  was  rich,  pleasant,  vibrant  with  the  earnestness 
of  what  he  had  to  say:  with  a  pretty  little  silver- 
mounted  walking  stick  he  slashed  at  spears  of  grass 
alongside  the  path;  the  girl  was  crying  a  little. 
Neither  of  them  had  seen  him,  so  he  entered  a  path 
that  led  from  them  at  right  angles. 

He  had  proceeded  but  a  few  feet  along  this  trail 
when,  through  a  break  in  the  shrubbery  ahead  of 
him,  he  saw  two  men.  They  were  crossing  Webster's 
path  and  following  a  course  paralleling  that  of  the 
lovers  in  the  broad  main  walk.  Brief  as  was  his 
glimpse  of  them,  however,  Webster  instantly  recog 
nized  the  two  Central  Americans  he  had  seen  in  the 
steamship  ticket  office  two  days  previous. 

They  were  not  walking  as  walk  two  men  abroad 
at  this  hour  for  a  constitutional.  Neither  did  they 
walk  as  walk  men  churchward  bound.  A  slight, 
skulking  air  marked  their  progress,  and  caused  Web 
ster  to  wonder  idly  what  they  were  stalking. 

He  turned  into  the  path  down  which  the  two  men 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  127 

had  passed,  not  with  the  slightest  idea  of  shadowing 
them,  but  because  his  destination  lay  in  that  direc 
tion.  The  Central  Americans  were  approximately 
fifty  yards  in  advance  of  him  as  he  turned  in  their 
wake,  and  at  sight  of  them  his  suspicion  that  they 
were  stalking  something  was  quickened  into  belief. 

Both  men  had  forsaken  the  gravelled  path  and 
were  walking  on  the  soft  velvet  of  blue  grass  lawn 
I  that  fringed  it! 

"Perhaps  I'd  better  deaden  my  hoof  beats  also," 
John  Stuart  Webster  soliloquized,  and  followed 
suit  immediately. 

He  had  scarcely  done  so  when  the  men  ahead  of  him 
paused  abruptly.  Webster  did  likewise,  and  respond 
ing — subconsciously,  perhaps,  to  the  remembrance 
of  the  menace  in  the  glance  of  the  man  with  the 
puckered  eye — he  stepped  out  of  sight  behind  a  broad 
oak  tree.  Through  the  trees  and  shrubbery  he  could 
still  see  the  lovers,  who  had  halted  and  evidently 
were  about  to  part. 

Webster  saw  the  young  man  glance  warily  about; 
then,  apparently  satisfied  there  was  none  to  spy  upon 
them,  he  drew  the  girl  gently  toward  him.  She 
clung  to  him  for  nearly  a  minute,  sobbing;  then  he 
raised  her  face  tenderly,  kissed  her,  pressed  her  from 
him,  and  walked  swiftly  away  without  looking  back. 

It  was  a  sweet  and  rather  touching  little  tableau; 
to  John  Stuart  Webster,  imaginative  and  possessed 
of  a  romantic  streak  in  his  nature,  it  was  more  than  a 
tableau.  It  was  a  moving  picture! 

"I  suppose  her  old  man  objects  to  the  young  fel- 


128  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

low,"  lie  muttered  to  himself  sympathetically,  "and 
he  can't  come  near  the  house.  They've  met  here  for 
the  fond  farewell,  and  now  the  young  fellow's  going 
out  West  to  make  his  fortune,  so  he  can  come  back  and 
claim  the  girl,.  Huh !  If  he  wants  her,  why  the  devil 
doesn't  he  take  her?  I'd  tell  her  old  man  I'd  picked 
on  him  for  my  father-in-law,  and  then  if  he  didn't 
like  me  I'd  let  the  old  fellow  rave;  and  see  how  much 
good  it  would  do  him.  But  the  French  are  different; 
they  always  let  the  old  folks  step  in  and  rock  the 
boat—  Hello!  By  Judas  priest!  Now  I  know 
what  those  two  paraqueets  are  up  to.  One  of  them 
is  the  father  of  that  girl.  They've  been  spying  on  the 
lovers,  and  now  they're  going  to  corner  the  young 
fellow  and  shingle  him  for  his  nerve." 

The  girl  had  stood  for  a  moment,  gazing  after  her 
companion,  before  she  turned  with  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes,  and  continued  on  her  way  to  the  cathe 
dral.  Webster  had  observed  that  the  two  men  ahead 
of  him  paid  no  attention  to  her,  but  pressed  eagerly 
forward  after  the  man. 

Webster  could  look  across  about  thirty  yards  of 
low  shrubbery  at  the  girl  as  she  passed.  He  heard 
her  sobbing  as  she  stumbled  blindly  by,  and  he  was 
distressed  about  her,  for  all  the  world  loves  a  lover 
and  John  Stuart  Webster  was  no  exception  to  this 
universal  rule. 

"By  George,  this  is  pretty  tough,"  he  reflected. 
"That  young  fellow  treated  that  girl  with  as  much 
gentleness  and  courtesy  as  any  gentleman  should, 
and  I'm  for  him  and  against  this  idea  of  corporal 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  129 

punishment.  Don't  you  worry,  Tillie,  my  dear. 
I'm  going  to  horn  into  this  game  myself  if  it  goes  too 
far." 

The  two  dusky  skulkers  ahead  of  him,  having  come 
to  another  crosspath,  turned  into  it  and  came  out  on 
the  main  path  in  the  rear  of  the  young  man.  Web 
ster  noticed  that  they  were  walking  twice  as  fast  as 
when  he  had  first  observed  them,  and  more  than  ever 
convinced  that  presently  there  might  be  work  for  a 
strong  man  and  true,  he  hastened  after  them. 

As  he  came  out  into  the  main  walk  again,  he 
noticed  that  the  pair  were  still  walking  on  the  grass. 
He  padded  gently  along  behind  them. 

The  four  were  now  rapidly  approaching  the  old 
French  market,  and.  the  steadily  rising  babel  of  voices 
speaking  in  French,  Italian,  Spanish,  Creole  patois 
and  Choc  taw,  was  sufficient  to  have  drowned  the 
slight  noise  of  the  pursuit,  even  had  the  young  man's 
mind  not  been  upon  other  things,  and  the  interest  of 
the  two  Central  Americans  centred  upon  their  quarry, 
to  the  exclusioa  of  any  thpught  of  possible  inter 
ruption. 

Webster  felt  instinctively  that  the  two  men  would 
rush  and  make  a  concerted  attack  from  the  rear. 
He  smiled. 

"I'll  just  fool  you  two  hombres  a  whole  lot,"  he 
thought,  and  stooping,  picked  up  a  small  stone.  On 
the  instant  the  two  men,  having  approached  within 
thirty  feet  of  their  quarry,  made  a  rush  for  him. 

Their  charge  was  swift,  but  swift  though  it  was, 
the  little  stone  which  John  Stuart  Webster  hurled  was 


130  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

swifter.  It  struck  the  young  man  fairly  between  the 
shoulderblades  with  a  force  sufficient  to  bring  him 
out  of  hjs  sentimental  reverie  with  a  jerk,  as  it  were. 
He  whirled,  saw  the  danger  that  threatened  him,  and 
— sprang  to  meet  it. 

"Bravo!"  yelled  Webster,  and  ran  to  his  aid,  for 
he  had  seen  now  that  it  was  to  be  knife  work. 
Tragedy  instead  of  melodrama. 

The  man  with  the  puckered  eye  closed  in  with  such 
eagerness  it  was  apparent  to  Webster  that  here  was 
work  to  his  liking.  The  young  man  raised  his  light 
cane,  but  Pucker-eye  did  not  hesitate.  He  merely 
threw  up  his  left  forearm  to  meet  the  expected  blow 
aimed  at  his  head,  lunged  forward  and  slashed  vi 
ciously  at  the  young  man's  abdomen.  The  latter 
drew  back  a  step,  doubled  like  a  jack-knife,  and 
brought  his  cane  down  viciously  across  the  knuckles 
of  his  assailant's  right  hand. 

"So  it  is  thou,  son  of  a  pig,"  he  called  pleasantly 
in  Spanish.  "I  fooled  you  that  time,  didn't  I?"  he 
added  in  English.  "Thought  I  would  aim  for  your 
head,  didn't  you?" 

The  blow  temporarily  paralyzed  the  assassin's 
hand ;  he  dropped  the  knife,  and  as  he  stooped  to  re 
cover  it  with  his  left  hand,  the  young  man,  before 
retreating  from  Pop-eye,  kicked  Pucker-eye  in  the 
face  and  quite  upset  him. 

"Stop  it!"  shouted  Webster. 

Pop-eye  turned  his  head  at  the  outcry.  The  man 
he  was  attacking  fell  into  the  position  of  a  swords 
man  en  garde,  and  thrust  viciously  with  the  ferule 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  131 

at  the  face  of  the  pop-eyed  man,  who,  disregarding 
Webster's  approach,  seized  the  cane  in  his  left  hand 
and  with  a  quick,  powerful  tug  actually  drew  his 
victim  toward  him  a  foot  before  the  latter  let  go  the 
stick. 

Before  he  could  give  ground  again  Pop-eye  was 
upon  him.  He  grasped  the  young  man  by  the  lat- 
ter's  left  arm  and  held  him,  while  he  drew  back  for 
the  awful  disembowelling  stroke;  as  his  long  arm 
sped  forward  the  hook  of  John  Stuart  Webster's 
heavy  cane  descended  upon  that  flexed  arm  in  the 
brook  of  the  elbow,  snagging  it  cleverly. 

The  knife  never  reached  its  destination! 

"You  would,  would  you?"  said  Webster  reproach 
fully,  and  jerked  the  fellow  violently  around.  The 
man  he  had  rescued  promptly  struck  Pop-eye  a  terrible 
blow  in  the  face  with  his  left  hand  and  broke  loose 
from  the  grip  that  had  so  nearly  been  his  undoing; 
whereupon  Webster  tapped  the  assassin  a  meditative 
tap  or  two  on  the  top  of  his  sinful  head  for  good 
measure  and  to  awaken  in  him  some  sense  of  the  im 
propriety  and  futility  of  resistance,  after  which 
Webster  turned  to  discuss  a  similar  question  of 
ethics  with  Pucker-eye. 

The  scar-cheeked  man  was  on  his  knees,  groping 
groggily  for  his  knife,  for  he  had  received  a  severe 
kick  under  the  chin,  and  for  the  nonce  was  far 
from  dangerous.  Stooping,  Webster  picked  up  the 
knife;  then  with  knife  and  cane  grasped  in  his  left 
hand  he  seized  Pucker-eye  by  the  nape  with  his  right 
and  jerked  him  to  his  feet.  The  assassin  stood  glow- 


132  WEBSTER— MAN'S     IAN 

ering  at  him  in  a  perfect  frenzy  of  brut/sh,  inarticulate 
fury. 

"Take  the  knife  away  from  the  other  fellow  before 
he  gets  active  again,"  Webster  called  over  his  shoul 
der.  "I'll  manage  this  rascal.  We'll  march  them 
over  to  the  market  and  turn  them  over  to  the  police." 
He  spoke  in  Spanish. 

"Thanks,  ever  so  much,  for  my  life,"  the  young 
man  answered  lightly,  and  in  English,  "but  where  I 
come  from  it  is  not  the  fashion  to  settle  these  argu 
ments  in  a  court  of  law.  To  call  an  officer  is  con 
sidered  unclublike;  to  shoot  a  prisoner  in  this  country 
is  considered  murder,  and  consequently  I  have  but 
one  alternative  and  I  advise  you,  my  good  friend, 
to  have  a  little  of  the  same.  I'm  going  to  run  like 
the  devil." 

And  he  did.  He  was  in  full  flight  before  Webster 
could  glance  around,  and  in  an  instant  he  was  lost  to 
sight  among  the  trees. 

"That  advice  sounds  eminently  fair  and  reason 
able,"  Webster  yelled  after  him,  and  was  about  to 
follow  when  he  observed  that  the  young  man  had 
abandoned  his  pretty  little  silver-chased  walking 
stick. 

"That's  too  nice  a  little  stick  to  leave  to  these 
brigands,"  he  thought,  and  forthwith  possessed  him 
self  of  it  and  the  pop-eyed  man's  knife,  after  which 
he  tarried  not  upon  the  order  of  his  going  but  went, 
departing  at  top  speed. 

The  young  man  he  had  saved  from  being  butchered 
was  right.  An  entangling  alliance  with  the  police 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  133 

was,  decidedly,  not  to  John  Stuart  Webster's  liking, 
for  should  he,  unfortunately,  form  such  an  alliance, 
he  would  be  haled  into  court  as  a  witness  and  per 
haps  miss  the  steamer  to  San  Buenaventura. 

"Drat  it,"  he  soliloquized,  as  he  emerged  from  the 
square  and  observed  his  taxi  parked  at  the  entrance 
to  the  market,  "I  came  through  that  square  so  fast 
1  haven't  the  slightest  idea  what  the  last  hah*  of  it 
looks  like.  That's  what  I  get  for  mixing  in  a  little 
Donnybrook  that's  none  of  my  business." 

He  had  planned  to  spend  an  hour  in  the  market, 
drink  a  cup  of  cafe  noir,  smoke  a  cigarette,  and  return 
to  his  hotel  in  time  for  a  leisurely  breakfast,  but  his 
recent  bout  with  grim  reality  had  blunted  the  edge 
of  romance.  He  ordered  his  driver  to  take  him  back 
to  the  hotel,  sprang  inside  and  congratulated  himself 
on  his  lucky  escape. 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

WEBSTER'S  trunk  went  aboard  the  steamer 
early  the  following  morning,  and  at  noon 
he  entered  a  taxi  with  his  hand  baggage  and 
was  driven  to  the  levee  where  La  Estrellita  lay  tug 
ging  gently   at   her  mooring  lines.     Owing  to  the 
congestion  of  freight  and  traffic  the  chauffeur  stopped 
his  cab  a  little  distance  from  the  gangplank,  where 
Webster  discharged  him  with  a  liberal  tip. 

The  latter,  however,  swung  his  passenger's  bag 
and  suitcase  to  the  ground,  picked  them  up  and 
started  for  the  gangplank. 

"Never  mind  my  baggage,  lad,"  Webster  called 
after  him.  "One  of  the  deck  boys  will  care  for  it." 

The  chauffeur  turned.  "You've  been  very  gen 
erous  with  me,  sir,"  he  answered,  "so  I  think  I  had 
better  carry  your  baggage  aboard.  If  you  permit  a 
deck  boy  to  handle  it,  you  merely  have  to  give  another 
tip,  and  that  would  be  sheer  wanton  waste.  Why 
shouldn't  I  earn  the  one  you  gave  me?" 

"I  hadn't  figured  it  out  that  way,  son,  so  here's 
another  half  dollar  for  being  the  only  existing  speci 
men  of  your  species  in  captivity.  My  stateroom 
is  No.  34,  upper  deck,  port  side,"  Webster  an 
swered,  smiling.  The  man  took  the  tip  eagerly  and 
hurried  toward  the  gangplank;  the  quartermaster 

134 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  135 

on  duty  shouldered  a  way  for  him  and  he  darted 
aboard.' 

Webster  followed  leisurely.  At  the  gangplank  the 
purser's  clerk  halted  him,  examined  his  tickets  and 
punched  them. 

"Where  is  the  other  man?'  he  asked.  "You  have 
two  tickets  here." 

"Oh,  that  blamed  valet  of  mine,"  Webster  answered, 
and  glanced  around  as  if  in  search  of  that  mythical 
functionary.  "It  would  be  like  the  stupid  fellow  to 
miss  the  boat,"  he  added.  "When  he  comes " 

Webster  ceased  speaking  abruptly.  He  was  look 
ing  straight  into  the  malevolent  orbs  of  Pucker-eye, 
who  was  standing  just  behind  the  clerk  at  the  foot 
of  the  gangplank. 

"I  wonder  if  Pop-eye's  around,  also,"  Webster 
thought,  and  he  faced  about.  Pop-eye  was  standing 
in  back  of  him,  leaning  over  the  railing  of  the  gang 
way. 

"Which  is  the  valet?"  the  purser's  clerk  asked, 
scanning  the  names  on  the  tickets. 

"Andrew  Bowers." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Webster,"  the  other  answered,  with 
that  genial  camaraderie  that  seems  inseparable  from 
all  of  his  calling.  "  Wrhen  Andrew  comes  I'll  send  him 
aboard." 

He  started  to  pass  the  tickets  back  to  Webster, 
but  a  detaining  hand  rested  on  his  arm,  while  a  dark 
thumb  and  forefinger  lifted  the  trailing  strips  of 
tickets.  Pucker-eye  was  examining  them  also. 

The  purser's  clerk  drove  his  elbow  backward  vio- 


\ 


136  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

lently  into  Pucker-eye's  midriff  and  shook  him  off 
roughly. 

"What  do  you  mean,  you  black-and-tan  hound?" 
he  demanded.  "Since  when  did  you  begin  to  O.  K. 
my  work?" 

Pucker-eye  made  no  reply  to  this  stern  reproof. 
He^  accepted  the  elbow  with  equanimity,  and  faced 
Webster  with  an  evil  smile  that  indicated  mutual 
recognition. 

"Bueno,"  he  said,  with  such  genuine  satisfaction 
that  Webster  could  not  help  demanding: 

"Por  que  es  bueno  ?     (Why  is  it  good?)" 

"  We  meet  the  sen  or  first  in  the  teeket  office.  We 
meet  the  seiior  again  yesterday  morning,  no?  After, 
we  remember  we  have  meet  the  senor  in  the  teeket 
office !  Quien  sabe  ?  The  senor  he  ees  sail  on  La 
Estrellita  for  San  Buenaventura,  no?" 

"So  you  came  nosing  around  to  see  about  it,  eh? 
Doing  a  little  plain  gumshoe  work,  I  see." 

Pucker-eye  bowed.  By  the  simple  exercise  of 
courage  and  bad  manners  he  had  looked  at  John 
Stuart  Webster's  ticket  and  was  now  familiar  with  his 
name  and  destination. 

The  object  of  this  solicitude  had  little  difficulty  in 
guessing  the  reason  behind  it  all,  and  he  was  not 
happy.  He  would  have  preferred  that  the  incident  of 
their  former  meeting  should  not  be  held  against  him; 
he  wished  most  devoutedly  that  his  part  in  the  ruc 
tion  in  Jackson  Square  on  Sunday  morning  might 
have  been  forgotten  by  all  ccncerned,  and  this  revival 
of  the  unpleasant  episode  was  slightly  disconcerting. 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  137 

As  a  usual  thing  he  was  loth  to  interject  himself 
in  the  affairs  of  other  people,  and  had  a  deep-seated 
animosity  against  those  who  did ;  he  would  have  pre 
ferred  to  round  out  his  existence  without  having 
to  take  into  consideration  the  presence  of  a  twin 
Nemesis.  However,  since  the  fat  was  in  the  fire, 
so  to  speak,  Webster  felt  that  there  was  nothing  for 
him  to  do  save  brazen  things  out  as  best  he  could, 
so  he  glowered  darkly  at  Pucker-eye  and  said: 

"Well,  you  scoundrelly  cutthroat,  what  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it?  Try  a  little  of  your  knife  work 
on  me,  I  suppose?" 

Pucker-eye  did  not  answer,  but  his  beady  glance 
wavered  and  shifted  before  the  cool,  contemptuous 
menace  of  Webster's  blue  eyes. 

"Listen,  hombre,"  Webster  continued.  "I  know 
your  kind  of  people  like  a  nigger  knows  cologne.  I 
know  what  you'd  like  to  do  to  me  in  exchange  for 
what  I  did  to  you  yesterday  morning,  but  you  take  a 
tip  from  me  and  don't  try  it,  or  one  of  these  days 
they'll  be  walking  slow  behind  you  and  your  com- 
pafiero,  and  you  won't  know  it!" 

The  fellow  grinned — the  kind  of  grin  that  is  com 
posed  of  equal  parts  of  ferocity  and  knowledge  of 
superior  strength.  That  grin  did  more  to  disconcert 
Webster  than  the  knowledge  that  he  had  earned  for 
himself  two  bloodthirsty  and  implacable  enemies, 
for  Pucker-eye  was  the  first  of  his  breed  that  Webster 
had  ever  seen  smile  under  insult.  That  cool  smile 
infuriated  him. 

Pucker-eye  took  out  a  cigarette  case,  selected  a 


138  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

cigarette,  and  presented  the  case  to  Webster.  His 
bad  manners  in  selecting  his  own  cigarette  first  was 
deliberate,  as  Webster  knew.  It  was  the  Latin- 
American's  method  of  showing  his  contempt. 

"We  shall  meet  again,  Meester  Webstaire,"  he 
said.  "May  I  offer  the  sefior  a  cigarette  for  the — 
what  you  Americans  call — the  keepsake?  No?" 
He  smiled  brightly  and  closed  his  puckered  eye  in  a 
knowing  wink. 

Webster  took  his  tickets  from  the  purser,  folded 
them,  placed  them  in  his  pocket  and  for  a  few  seconds 
regarded  Pucker-eye  contemptuously. 

"When  we  meet  again,  you  scum,"  he  retorted 
quietly,  "  you  shall  have  no  difficulty  in  remembering 
me.  You  may  keep  your  cigarette." 

His  long,  powerful  right  arm  shot  out;  like  a  for 
ceps  his  thumb  and  forefinger  closed  over  Pucker- 
eye's  rather  flat  nose;  he  squeezed,  and  with  a  shrill 
scream  of  agony  Pucker-eye  went  to  his  knees. 

Still  holding  the  wretch  by  his  proboscis,  Webster 
turned  quickly  in  order  that  his  face  might  be  toward 
Pop-eye. 

"Pop-eye,"  he  said,  "if  you  take  a  hand  in  this, 
I'll  twist  your  nose,  too,  and  afterward  I'll  throw  you 
in  the  river." 

He  turned  to  Pucker-eye. 

"Up,  thou  curious  little  one,"  he  said  in  Spanish, 
and  jerked  the  unhappy  rascal  to  his  feet.  The 
latter  clawed  ineffectually  at  the  terrible  arm  which 
held  him,  until,  presently  discovering  that  the  harder 
he  struggled  the  harder  Webster  pinched  his  nose, 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  139 

he  ceased  his  struggles  and  hung  limply,  moaning  with 
pain  and  rage  in  the  grip  of  the  American. 

"Good!"  Webster  announced,  slacking  his  grip  a 
little.  With  his  left  hand  he  deftly  extracted  a  hair 
from  each  flank  of  the  screaming  little  scoundrel's 
scant  moustache,  and  held  them  before  the  latter's 
tear-filled  eyes. 

"My  friend,"  he  said  gently,  "mark  how  the  gringo 
gives  his  little  dark  brother  a  lesson  in  deportment. 
Behold,  if  I  have  given  thee  a  souvenir  of  our  meet 
ing,  I  also  have  taken  one.  By  this  pinched  and 
throbbing  nose  shall  I  be  remembered  when  I  am 
gone;  by  these  hairs  from  thy  rat's  moustache  shall  I 
remember  thee.  Go,  and  thrust  not  that  nose  into 
a  gringo's  business  again.  It  is  unsafe." 

He  released  Pucker-eye,  nodded  brightly  to  the 
purser's  clerk  and  quartermaster,  who,  spellbound 
and  approving,  had  watched  him  mete  out  retribu 
tion  according  to  his  code,  and  went  aboard,  just  as 
an  assistant  steward  came  hurrying  along  the  deck 
beating  a  lusty  solo  on  a  triangle — the  signal  for  all 
non-passengers  to  go  ashore. 

Webster  made  his  way  through  the  crowd  to  his 
room,  looked  in,  saw  that  his  baggage  was  there,  and 
walked  around  on  the  starboard  side  to  join  in  the  gen 
eral  farewell  of  all  on  board  to  the  crowd  on  the  levee. 

At  the  shore  end  of  the  gangplank  Pucker-eye  and 
Pop-eye  still  waited.  The  unfortunate  Pucker-eye 
was  weeping  with  pain  and  futile  rage  and  humilia 
tion,  but  Webster  noticed  that  Pop-eye's  attention 
was  not  on  his  friend  but  upon  each  passenger  that 


140  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

boarded  the  ship,  of  which  there  were  the  usual 
number  of  late  arrivals.  As  each  passenger  ap 
proached,  Pop-eye  scanned  him  with  more  than 
casual  interest. 

Webster  smiled.  "Looking  for  that  valet  they 
heard  me  talking  about,"  he  reflected.  "Pop-eye, 
you're  a  fine,  capable  lad.  I  thought  you  had  the 
brains  of  the  two.  You're  not  going  away  until  you've 
had  a  chance  to  size  up  the  reinforcements  at  my 
command,  are  you?" 

Promptly  at  one  o'clock  the  captain  mounted  the 
bridge  and  ordered  the  gangplank  drawn  ashore. 
The  breastline  was  cast  off;  with  a  long-drawn  bellow 
from  her  siren  the  wheel  of  La  Estrellita  commenced 
to  churn  the  muddy  water  and  her  bow  swung  gently 
outboard,  while  the  stern  line  acted  as  a  spring. 
With  the  stern  line  slackened  and  cast  overboard  the 
vessel  pushed  slowly  out  into  the  stream  where  the 
current  caught  her  and  swung  her  in  a  wide  arc. 
Webster  watched  Pucker-eye  and  Pop-eye  leave  the 
landing  arm  in  arm.  Pop-eye  was  sporty  enough  to 
wave  at  him,  and  Webster,  not  to  be  outdone  in 
kind,  waved  back. 

He  lighted  a  cigar  and  leaned  over  the  rail  as  the 
steamer,  gathering  speed,  swept  down  river. 

"Good-bye,  you  golden  fizz  and  chicken  gumbo," 
he  called,  as  the  city  receded  and  the  low,  wooded 
shores  below  the  city  came  into  view.  He  had  for 
gotten  Pucker-eye  and  Pop-eye  in  the  flood  of  poig 
nant  regret  that  swept  over  h  m  at  the  memory  of 
the  peerless  Antoine! 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

WHEN  he  had  finished  his  cigar  he  cast  the 
stump  overboard,  watched  it  until  it  disap 
peared  astern,  and  then  went  around  to 
state-room  No.  34.  As  he  stepped  in,  and  closed  the 
door  a  masculine  voice  said  very  pleasantly : 

"How  do  you  do?" 

Mr.  Webster  looked  up  and  beheld  a  young  man, 
arrayed  in  a  very  fancy  pair  of  light  blue  silk  pyjamas, 
stretched  at  his  ease  in  the  upper  berth.  In  his  right 
hand  he  held  an  open  book;  his  left  hand  grasped  his 
bare  right  foot,  which  he  was  rubbing  comfortably; 
in  his  mouth  he  held  an  aromatic  Turkish  cigarette. 
He  was  very  much  at  home,  no  doubt  of  that,  for  he 
was  smiling  in  the  friendliest  fashion  imaginable. 

John  Stuart  Webster  stared  at  the  stranger  for 
several  seconds  and  concluded  he  was  invading  the 
sanctity  of  another's  stateroom.  "Excuse  me,"  he 
said,  "I  guess  I'm  in  the  right  church  but  the  wrong 
pew,"  and  he  stepped  out  and  looked  for  the  num 
ber  on  the  stateroom.  To  his  surprise  it  was  No. 
34  after  all,  so  he  stepped  back  into  the  stateroom 
and  favoured  the  stranger  with  another  scrutiny. 

"It  does  appear  to  me,  my  friend,"  he  said  pres 
ently,  "that  I  detect  something  strangely  familiar 
about  your  pyjamas." 

141 


142  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"I  wouldn't  be  the  least  bit  surprised,  Mr.  Web 
ster.  I  found  them  in  your  suitcase." 

"Well,  how  do  you  do?"  Webster  declared. 

"Pretty  well,  all  things  considered.  May  I  offer 
you  one  of  your  own  cigarettes?  I  found  them  in  the 
suitcase  also,  and  can  recommend  them  highly." 

'  *  Thank  you  very  much . "  Webster  helped  himself 
to  a  cigarette  and  sat  down  on  the  settee.  Fell  a 
silence  of  perhaps  half  a  minute.  Then: 

"I  dislike  to  appear  inquisitive,"  Webster  began, 
"but  the  fact  is,  neighbour,  I'm  curious  to  know 
where  you  got  that  book.  I  observe  you  are  reading 
Samuel  Butler's  'Way  of  all  Flesh/  and  that  the 
book  is  slightly  damaged.  Recently  I  purchased 
such  a  book  in " 

"Pray  do  not  take  the  trouble  to  explain,"  the 
other  answered  airily.  "I  discovered  this  excellent 
book  in  your  suitcase  also.  In  fact,  for  me,  that 
suitcase  has  proved  to  be  a  repository  of  treasures." 

John  Stuart  Webster's  neck  came  out  of  his  collar 
with  the  suddenness  of  a  turtle  snapping  at  a  fly; 
he  drew  himself  up  beside  the  top  berth  until  his 
face  was  on  a  level  with  his  unbidden  guest's,  upon 
whom  he  bent  a  look  of  mingled  emotions.  On  his 
part  the  stranger  returned  his  gaze  with  grave  inter 
est,  and  when  the  silence  threatened  to  become  em 
barrassing  he  said : 

"Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  press  that  button? 
I  think  we  should  drink  a  bumper  to  our  better  ac 
quaintance  and  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  the  bar 
keeper  on  this  packet  can  manufacture  a  golden  fizz. 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  143 

Do  you  care  for  the  famous  New  Orleans  golden 
fizz?" 

"It  is  a  wonderful  institution,"  Webster  replied, 
"and  I'll  have  one.  I  need  it  to  sustain  me,  for  I 
am  faint  with  amazement."  He  pressed  the  button. 
"  While  the  golden  fizz  is  fizzing,"  he  continued,  "  sup 
pose  you  let  me  have  a  look  at  your  ticket." 

"Ticket?"  echoed  his  visitor.  "I  haven't  any 
ticket.  A  kind  gentleman  bought  one  for  me  and 
has  it  in  his  possession.  Do  you,  sir,  by  any  chance, 
happen  to  be  that  philanthropic  individual?" 

"Well,  I'll  be " 

"Hush!"  the  stranger  warned,  raising  an  admoni 
tory  finger.  "No  profanity,  please.  I  have  been 
tenderly  reared  and  cuss  words  will  only  shock  me  and 
clog  the  atmosphere.  I'm  here  to  do  you  and  do  you 
a  delicate  brown,  so  bear  up,  kind  sir,  and  take  your 
walloping  like  a  sport." 

"Who  the  devil  are  you?"  John  Stuart  Webster 
demanded. 

"I  regret  I  have  no  card,  but  even  if  I  had  it 
would  be  no  kindness  to  inflict  upon  an  American 
gentleman  the  cognomen  my  parents  honoured  me 
with,  for  it  is  long  and  many-jointed,  like  a  peanut, 
and  embodies  the  names  of  all  the  saints  in  the 
calendar.  Moreover,  just  at  present  I  am  travel 
ling  under  an  alias.  I  am  known  as  Mr.  Andrew 
Bowers." 

"And  your  occupation?"  Webster  managed  to 
articulate. 

"Valet  de  chambre  to  that  prince  of  gentlemen, 


144  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Mr.  John  S.  Webster,"  the  other  replied  with  a  mis 
chievous  gleam  in  his  dark  eyes. 

Mr.  Webster  sat  down  limply  on  the  settee.  He 
was  undecided  whether  to  roar  with  laughter  or 
shriek  with  rage;  while  he  struggled  for  a  decision 
Andrew  Bowers  blew  smoke  rings  at  the  ceiling. 

"Haven't  I  seen  you  before?"  Webster  queried 
presently. 

"I  wouldn't  be  surprised.  I  drove  you  down  to 
the  steamer  in  a  taxi  half  an  hour  ago.  You  will 
recall  that  the  taxi  driver  carried  your  luggage 
aboard." 

Webster  gazed  around  the  stateroom.  "Where 
have  you  hidden  your  livery?"  he  demanded. 

"I  wrapped  it  in  a  newspaper;  then,  seeking  a 
moment  when  the  deck  outside  was  deserted,  I 
stepped  forth  in  my — I  beg  your  pardon,  your— 
pyjamas  and  tossed  it  overboard." 

"But  apparently  you  did  not  bring  aboard  with 
you  a  suit  of  clothes  to  take  the  place  of  your  livery?  " 

"Quite  true — lamentably  so,  Mr.  Webster.  Per 
haps  you  will  accept  my  desperate  need  as  an  excuse 
for  borrowing  your  pyjamas.  I  notice  you  have 
another  suit  of  them.  Fortunate  man ! " 

When  confronted  by  something  mysterious  it  was 
not  John  Stuart's  habit  to  ask  innumerable  questions, 
and  for  the  space  of  two  minutes  he  gave  himself  up 
to  deduction  and  a  close  scrutiny  of  his  companion. 

Andrew  Bowers  was  a  man  of  perhaps  thirty  years, 
five  feet  ten  inches  tall,  and  apparently  in  excellent 
health.  He  might  have  weighed  a  hundred  and 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  145 

seventy  pounds  and  he  was  undeniably  handsome. 
His  head  was  nobly  formed  and  covered  with  thick, 
wavy  hair,  shiny  and  black  as  ebony;  his  eyes  were 
darkiblue;  the  eyebrows,  thick  but  fine  and  silky, 
almost  met  over  the  bridge  of  a  thin,  high  nose  that 
was  just  a  trifle  too  long  for  his  face.  Webster 
decided  it  was  the  nose  of  a  thinker.  Andrew  Bow- 
ers's  forehead  was  broad  and  high  and  his  head  was 
thick  forward  of  the  ears,  infallible  sign  of  brains; 
his  mouth  and  chin  were  full  of  determination,  al 
though  capable  of  a  smile  of  singular  sweetness;  while 
the  skin  on  his  legs  was  milk-white,  his  hands  arid 
face  were  tanned  to  the  colour  of  a  manzanita  stick, 
seeming  to  indicate  that  he  had  lived  an  outdoor 
life. 

While  Webster  was  wondering  whether  his  com 
panion  was  merely  a  high-class  tramp  or  an  abscond 
ing  bank  cashier,  a  knock  sounded  on  the  stateroom 
door.  He  opened  it  and  the  purser  stood  in  the 
entrance. 

"Tickets,  please?"  he  announced. 

Webster  surrendered  both  tickets,  receiving  in 
turn  two  seat  checks  for  the  dining  saloon,  and  the 
purser  passed  on  to  the  next  cabin. 

Andrew  Bowers  smiled  a  small,  prescient  smile, 
but  said  nothing  and  presently  John  Stuart  Webster 
broke  the  silence.  "Well,"  he  ordered  "sing  the 
song  or  tell  the  story." 

"I  noticed  you  surrendered  my  ticket  to  the 
purser,"  the  young  man  answered  irrelevantly,  "and 
I  am  glad  of  that.  I  take  it  as  prima  facie  evidence 


146  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

that  you  have  made  up  your  mind  to  accept  my  com 
pany." 

'' You're  too  infernally  cool  and  cocksure,  my 
friend,"  Webster  warned  him  testily.  "I  pride 
myself  on  a  sense  of  humour  and  I  dearly  love  a  joke 
until  it's  carried  too  far,  but  be  advised  in  time,  young 
man,  and  don't  try  to  play  horse  with  me.  I  haven't 
made  up  my  mind  to  accept  your  company,  although, 
provided  you  do  not  rub  my  fur  the  wrong  way,  I 
may  decide  to  put  up  with  you,  for  whether  you  are  a 
decayed  gentleman  or  an  engaging  scoundrel,  you 
are,  at  least,  intelligent  and  impressive,  clean,  white, 
resourceful,  and  pleasant.  However,  my  acceptance 
or  non-acceptance  of  you  is  a  subject  for  future  dis 
cussion,  since  at  present  we  have  some  fiduciary  mat 
ters  before  us.  You  owe  me  fifty  dollars  for  your 
ticket,  Andrew  Bowers,  and  in  view  of  the  fact  that  I 
never  saw  you  before  to-day,  suppose  we  start  the 
voyage  by  squaring  the  account." 

Andrew  Bowers  sat  up  in  the  berth  and  let  his  legs 
drape  over  the  side.  "Mr.  Webster,"  he  began 
seriously,  "had  I  sung  my  song  or  told  my  story  be 
fore  you  surrendered  that  ticket  to  the  purser  I 
might  have  found  myself  in  a  most  embarrassing 
predicament.  If,  prior  to  the  arrival  of  the  purser  to 
collect  the  tickets,  you  had  handed  my  ticket  to  me, 
saying:  'Here  is  your  ticket,  Mr.  Bowers.  Be 
kind  enough  to  reimburse  me  to  the  extent  of  fifty 
dollars,'  I  should  have  been  compelled  to  admit  then, 
as  I  do  now,  that  I  haven't  fifty  dollars.  Fortunately 
for  me,  however,  you  surrendered  the  ticket  to  the 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  147 

purser  before  acquainting  yourself  with  the  state  of 
my  fortunes ;  the  voyage  has  commenced  and  whether 
you  like  it  or  not,  my  dear  sir,  I  am  your  guest  from 
now  until  we  reach  San  Buenaventura.  Rather  an 
interesting  situation,  don't  you  think?" 

John  Stuart  Webster  was  of  Scotch  ancestry.  He 
had  an  hereditary  regard  for  his  baubees.  He  was  a 
business  man.  Prodigal  spender  though  he  was  and 
generous  to  a  fault,  the  fact  remained  that  he  always 
made  it  a  point  to  get  value  received,  and  he  was 
prodigal  with  his  own  money;  he  preferred  that  the 
privilege  of  prodigality  with  the  Websterian  funds 
should  remain  an  inalienable  prerogative  of  the  sole 
surviving  member  of  the  Webster  family.  He  gazed 
contemplatively  now  upon  his  devil-may-care,  un 
bidden  guest,  torn  between  a  desire  to  whisk  him 
out  of  the  berth  and  shake  him  until  his  teeth  fell  out, 
and  another  to  be  just  and  patient,  in  the  hope  that 
some  great  extenuating  circumstance  might  be  ad 
duced  to  account  for  this  impudent  daylight  robbery. 
Mr.  Webster  had  been  deluded,  cheated,  robbed,  and 
pillaged  many  a  time  and  oft  in  the  course  of  his 
rather  eventful  career,  but  he  had  yet  to  meet  the 
man  who,  having  swindled  him  out  of  fifty  dollars, 
had  the  effrontery  to  add  insult  to  injury  by  exhibit 
ing  a  perfectly  obvious  intention  of  making  him  like 
it.  Indeed,  John  Stuart  Webster  was  obsessed  with  a 
secret  fear  that  the  smiling  bandit  in  the  upper  berth 
was  going  to  succeed  in  his  nefarious  design,  and,  in 
the  contemplation  of  this  unheard-of  contretemps, 
the  genial  John  was  struck  temporarily  speechless. 


148  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"The  last  cent  I  had  in  the  world  went  to  that 
taxi  person  whose  taxi  I  borrowed  and  whose  old 
uniform  I  purchased,"  Andrew  Bowers  supplemented 
his  confession. 

"You  asked  me  to  ring  for  two  golden  fizzes," 
Webster  reproached  him.  "Am  I  to  be  stuck  for 
the  drinks?  Not  satisfied  with  rooking  me  for  a 
first-class  passage  to  San  Buenaventura  you  plan  to 
tack  on  extras,  eh?" 

"Oh,  I'll  pay  for  the  drinks,"  Andrew  Bowers 
assured  him. 

"How  can  you,  if  you  gave  your  last  cent  to  that 
taxi  driver?" 

"You  tipped  me  very  liberally  for  carrying  your 
baggage  aboard,"  Andrew  Bowers  retorted  slyly. 

"Ouch!"  cried  Mr.  Webster,  and  laughed.  The 
very  next  instant  he  was  provoked  at  himself  for 
having  done  so.  That  laugh  gave  the  brigand  An 
drew  a  decided  advantage,  for  it  placed  Webster  on 
defensive  ground.  He  was  convinced  of  this  when 
the  brigand  said: 

"Thanks  for  that  laugh,  Mr.  Webster.  It  arouses 
hope  in  my  sad  heart.  I  have  outraged  your 
patience,  your  privacy,  and  your  pocketbook — yet 
you  laughed.  Bueno.  I  will  be  equally  good- 
natured  and  forgive  you  for  questioning  my  sincerity 
in  the  matter  of  dispensing  my  hospitality;  even  the 
little  slur  cast  on  my  veracity  in  the  matter  of  my 
finances  shall  pass  unnoticed." 

"I  think  you're  too  cool,  young  man,"  Webster 
retorted.  "Just  a  tr  fle  too  cocksure.  Up  to  the 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  149 

present  moment  you  have  proffered  no  evidence 
why  you  should  not  be  adjudged  a  cad,  and  I  do  not 
like  cads  and  must  decline  to  permit  one  to  occupy 
the  same  stateroom  at  my  expense.  You  are  clever 
and  amusing  and  I  laughed  at  you,  but  at  the  same 
time  my  sense  of  humour  is  not  so  great  as  to  cause  me 
to  overlook  your  impudence  and  laugh  with  you. 
Now,  if  you  have  anything  to  say,  say  it  quickly,  be- 
ca  i ise  you're  going  to  go  away  from  here — in  a  hurry." 

"I  plead  guilty  to  the  indictment,  Mr.  Webster, 
and  submit  as  an  excuse  the  fact  that  desperate  cir 
cumstances  require  desperate  measures.  I  am  not 
begging  my  way,  neither  am  I  beating  it,  for  the  rea 
son  that  both  forms  of  travel  are  repugnant  to  me.  I 
.am  merely  taking  advantage  of  certain  fortuitous 
circumstances  to  force  you,  an  entire  stranger,  to 
extend  to  me  a  credit  of  fifty  dollars  until  we  reach 
San  Buenaventura  when  you  will  be  promptly  reim 
bursed.  I  had  thought,"  he  added  sadly,  "that 
my  face  might  prove  ample  security  for  a  fifty -dollar 
loan.  There  has  never  been  a  crook  in  my  family 
and  I  have  never  been  charged  with  a  penal  offence  or 
been  in  jail." 

"It  is  not  my  habit,"  Webster  retorted  stiffly, 
"to  extend  credit  to  strangers  who  demand  it." 

"I  do  not  demand  it,  sir.  I  beg  it  of  you,  and  be 
cause  I  cannot  afford  to  be  refused  I  took  care  to  ar 
range  matters  so  that  you  would  not  be  likely  to 
refuse  my  request.  Really,  I  do  not  mean  to  be  cock 
sure  and  impudent,  but  before  you  throw  me  out  I'd 
like  to  let  you  in  on  a  secret  about  yourself." 


150  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Well?" 

"You're  not  going  to  throw  me  out." 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  you  can't." 

"That's  fighting  talk.  Now,  just  to  prove  to  you 
the  depth  of  error  in  which  you  flounder,  young  man, 
I  am  about  to  throw  you  out."  And  he  grasped 
Andrew  Bowers  in  the  grip  of  a  grizzly  bear  and 
whisked  him  out  of  the  top  berth. 

"Wait  one  second,"  his  helpless  victim  cried.  "I 
have  something  to  say  before  you  go  any  further." 

"Say  it,"  Webster  ordered.  "Your  tongue  is  the 
only  part  of  you  that  I  cannot  control." 

"When  you  throw  me  out  on  deck,"  Andrew 
Bowers  queried,  "do  your  pyjamas  go  with  me? 
Does  the  hair  go  with  the  hide?" 

"They  cost  me  sixteen  dollars  in  Salt  Lake  City, 
but — good  lord,  yes.  I  can't  throw  you  out  mother 
naked;  damn  it,  I  can't  throw  you  out  at  all." 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  so?  Be  a  good  fellow  and  turn 
me  loose." 

"Certainly — for  the  time  being.  You'll  stay 
locked  in  this  stateroom  while  I  have  a  talk  with  the 
captain.  He'll  probably  dig  up  a  shirt,  a  pair  oj 
dungarees,  and  some  old  shoes  for  you  and  set  you 
ashore  before  we  get  out  of  the  river.  If  he  doesn't 
do  that  he'll  keep  you  aboard  and  you'll  shovel  coa 
for  your  passage." 

"But  I'm  Andrew  Bowers  and  the  purser  has  col 
lected  my  first-class  ticket!" 

"What  of  it?     I  shall  declare— and  with  truth— 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  151 

that  you  are  not  Andrew  Bowers,  that  you  are  not 
my  valet,  and  that  I  did  not  buy  the  ticket  for  you. 

dare  you  to  face  the  captain  in  my  pyjamas  and 
prove  you  aren't  a  stowaway." 

"You  would  win  on  that  point,"  the  baffling  guest 
admitted,  " but  it  is  a  point  you  will  not  raise.  Why? 
Because  I  have  another  trump  up  my  kimono."  He 
climbed  back  into  the  upper  berth  and  from  that 
vantage  point  gazed  down  benevolently  upon  John 
Stuart  Webster.  "I'm  disappointed  in  you,"  he 
continued  sadly.  "I  thought  you'd  show  a  little 
normal  human  curiosity  about  me — and  you  haven't. 
You  do  not  ask  questions  or  I  could  explain,  while 
I  cannot  volunteer  information  without  seeming  to 
seek  your  pity,  and  that  course  would  be  repugnant 
to  me.  I  have  never  shovelled  coal,  although  I  dare 
say  I  could  manage  to  earn  my  passage  as  a  stoker; 
indeed,  I  daresay  I  shall  have  to,  if  you  insist  on  being 
belligerent,  and  if  you  insist  I  shall  not  oppose  you. 
Iain  hoping,  however,  that  you  will  not  insist,  but  that 
you  will,  on  the  contrary,  accept  my  word  of  honour 
that  you  shall  be  reimbursed  two  hours  after  you 
land  in  San  Buenaventura." 

"New  music  to  your  song,  my  friend,  but  the  same 
old  words,"  Webster  retorted,  and  stepped  to  the 
stateroom  door.  "You're  doomed  to  shovel  coal 
or  go  ashore." 

"Listen.  If  I  go  ashore,  your  responsibility  for 
my  life  ceases,  Mr.  Webster,  but  if  the  chief  engineer 
happens  to  be  short  one  coal-passer  and  the  captain 
sends  me  down  to  the  stokehole,  your  responsibility 


152  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

for  my  death  begins,  for  I'll  be  put  ashore  publicly  at 
San  Buenaventura  and  two  hours  later  I'll  be  facing  a 
firing  squad  in  the  cemetery  of  the  Catedral  de  la 
Vera  Cruz." 

"  Gosh,"  John  Stuart  Webster  murmured  dazedly, 
"I'm  afraid  I  can't  take  a  chance  like  that  for  fiftv 
dollars." 

A  knock  sounded  on  the  door  and  Webster  opened 
it.  A  waiter  stood  in  the  entrance.  "Did  you  ring, 
sir?"  he  queried. 

"I  did,"  replied  John  Stuart  Webster.  "Bring  up 
two  glasses  and  a  quart  of  the  best  wine  aboard  the 
ship." 

The  waiter  hastened  away  and  Webster  turned  to 
face  the  little,  cryptic,  humorous  smile  that  made  his 
travelling  companion  so  singularly  boyish  and  attrac 
tive. 

"  You  win,  son,"  W'ebster  declared.  "I'm  whipped 
to  a  frazzle.  Any  time  I'm  sitting  in  back  of  a  royal 
flush  and  the  other  fellow  bluffs  me  out  of  the  pot, 
I  always  buy  the  wine.  Wrhen  it  arrives  we  shall 
drink  to  our  better  acquaintance.  Pending  its  ar 
rival,  please  be  advised  that  you  are  welcome  to  my 
pyjamas,  my  cigarettes,  my  book,  and  my  stateroom. 
You  are  my  guest  and  you  owe  me  nothing,  except, 
perhaps,  your  confidence,  although  I  do  not  insist 
upon  that  point.  Where  I  come  from  every  man 
kills  his  own  snakes." 

And  he  held  up  his  hand  for  Andrew  Bowers  to' 
shake. 

"Mr.  Webster,"  the  latter  declared  feelingly,  "I 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  153 

am  not  a  lord  of  language,  so  I  cannot  find  words  to 
thank  you.  I  agree  with  you  that  you  are  entitled 
to  my  confidence.  My  name  is " 

"Tut,  tut,  my  boy.  Your  name  is  Andrew  Bow 
ers,  and  that  identifies  you  sufficiently  for  the  time 
being.  Your  face  is  a  guaranty  of  your  character 
and  entitles  you  to  a  nominal  credit." 

"But " 

"Make  me  no  buts.  I  care  not  who  you  are; 
perhaps  what  I  do  not  know  will  not  distress  me. 
When  I  suggested  that  I  was  entitled  to  a  measure  of 
your  confidence,  I  meant  on  a  few  minor  points  only 
— points  on  which  my  curiosity  has  been  abnormally 
aroused." 

"Very  well,  my  friend.     Fire  away." 

"Are  you  an  American  citizen?" 

"No,  I  am  a  citizen  of  Sobrante." 

"You  have  assured  me  that  you  are  not  a  crook; 
consequently  I  know  you  are  not  fleeing  from  the 
United  States  authorities.  You  had  no  money  to 
pay  for  your  passage  to  San  Buenaventura  so  you 
schemed  to  make  me  pay  your  way.  Hence  I  take 
it  that  your  presence  in  the  capital  of  your  native 
country  is  a  matter  of  extreme  importance  and  that 
the  clerk  in  the  ticket  office  of  the  Caribbean  Mail 
Line  is  a  friend  of  yours." 

"Quite  true.     He  knew  my  need." 

"  You  were  under  surveillance  and  could  not  leave 
New  Orleans  for  San  Buenaventura  unless  you  left 
secretly.  When  I  purchased  both  berths  in  this 
stateroom  and  the  ticket  clerk  knew  I  held  a  first- 


154  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

class  ticket  for  a  valet  that  was  not,  he  decided  to 
saw  off  on  me  a  valet  that  was.  So  he  gave  you  my 
name  and  the  name  of  my  hotel,  you  arranged  mat 
ters  with  the  taxi  starter  and  the  taxi  driver  and  drove 
me  to  the  steamer.  Disguised  in  the  livery  of  a 
chauffeur  and  carrying  hand  baggage  you  hoped  to 
get  aboard  without  being  detected  by  your  enemies 
who  watched  the  gangplank." 

Andrew  Bowers  nodded. 

"Do  you  think  you  succeeded?"  Webster  con 
tinued. 

"I  do  not  know,  Mr.  Webster.  I  hope  so.  If  I 
did  not — well,  the  instant  this  steamer  drops  anchor 
in  the  roadstead  at  San  Buenaventura,  she  will  be 
boarded  and  searched  by  the  military  police,  I  will 
be  discovered  and He  shrugged. 

"Lawn  party  in  the  cemetery,  eh?"  Webster  sug 
gested. 

Andrew  Bowers  reached  under  his  pillow  and 
produced  two  heavy  automatic  pistols  and  a  leathern 
box  containing  five  clips  of  cartridges.  These  he 
exhibited  in  silence  and  then  thrust  them  back  under 
the  pillow. 

"I  see,  Andrew.  In  case  you're  cornered,  eh? 
Well,  I  think  I  would  prefer  to  die  fighting  myself. 
However,  let  us  hope  you  will  not  have  to  face  any 
such  unpleasant  alternative." 

"I'm  not  worried,  Mr.  Webster.  Somehow,  I 
think  I  ran  the  gauntlet  safely." 

"But  why  did  you  throw  your  livery  overboard?" 

"It  was  of  no  further  use  to  me.     A  chauffeur  on 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  155 

shipboard  would  be  most  incongruous,  and  the  sight 
of  the  livery  hanging  on  yonder  peg  would  be  cer 
tain  to  arouse  the  curiosity  of  the  room  steward. 
And  I'm  not  going  to  appear  on  deck  throughout  the 
voyage.  Might  meet  somebody  who  knows  me." 

"But  you'll  have  to  have  some  clothes  in  which  to 
go  ashore,  you  amazing  man." 

"Not  at  all.  The  steamer  will  arrive  in  the  har 
bour  of  San  Buenaventura  late  in  the  afternoon — 
too  late  to  be  given  pratique  that  day.  After  dark  I 
shall  drop  overboard  and  endeavour  to  swim  ashore, 
and  in  view  of  that  plan  clothes  would  only  prove  an 
embarrassment.  I  shall  land  in  my  own  country 
naked  and  penniless,  but  once  ashore  I  shall  quickly 
find  shelter.  I'll  have  to  risk  the  sharks,  of  course." 

"Man-eaters?" 

"The  bay  is  swarming  with  them." 

"You're  breaking  my  heart,"  Webster  declared 
sympathetically.  "I  suppose  you're  going  to  feign 
illness  throughout  the  voyage." 

"  Not  the  kind  of  illness  that  will  interfere  with  my 
appetite.  I  have  prescribed  for  myself  a  mild  attack 
of  inflammatory  rheumatism,  as  an  excuse  for  re 
maining  in  bed  and  having  my  meals  brought  to  me. 
This  service,  of  course,  will  necessitate  some  slight 
expense  in  the  way  of  tips,  but  I  am  hoping  you  will 
see  your  way  clear  to  taking  care  of  that  for  your 
guest." 

Silently  Webster  handed  Andrew  Bowers  ten  dol 
lars  in  silver.  "That  ought  to  hold  you,"  he  de 
clared.  "For  the  rest,  you're  up  to  some  political 


156  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

skullduggery  in  Sobrante,  and  what  it  is  and  what's 
your  real  name  are  two  subjects  in  which  I  am  not 
interested.  I  am  on  a  vacation  and  intend  to  amuse 
myself.  If  I  find  you  as  amusing  as  you  appear  at 
the  outset  of  our  acquaintance  I  shall  do  my  best  to 
break  the  tedium  of  your  confinement  in  this  state 
room  and  if  I  find  you  dull  I  shall  leave  you  to  your 
own  devices.  Let  us  talk  anything  but  business  and 
personalities  and  let  it  be  understood  that  you  are 
my  valet,  Andrew  Bowers.  That's  all  I  know  about 
you  and  that's  all  I  care  to  know  about  you.  In  fact, 
the  less  I  know  about  you  the  less  will  I  have  to 
explain  in  the  event  of  your  sudden  demise." 

"Fair  enough,"  quoth  Andrew  Bowers.    "You're 
a  man  after  my  own  heart.     I  thank  you." 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 


PRIOR  to  leaving  New  Orleans,  Webster  had 
cabled  Billy  Geary  that  he  was  taking  pas 
sage  on  La  Estrellita  and  stating  the  ap 
proximate  date  of  his  arrival  at  San  Buenaventura— 
which  information  descended  upon  that  young  man 
with  something  of  the  charm  of  a  gentle  rainfall  over 
a  hitherto  arid  district.  He  had  been  seeing  Dolores 
Ruey  at  least  once  a  day  ever  since  her  return  to 
Sobrante;  indeed,  only  the  fear  that  he  might  wear 
out  his  welcome  prevented  him  from  seeing  her  twice  a 
day.  He  was  quick,  therefore,  to  seize  upon  Webster's 
cablegram  as  an  excuse  to  call  upon  Dolores  and  explain 
the  mystery  surrounding  his  friend's  nonappearance. 

"Well,  Dolores,"  he  began,  in  his  excitement  call 
ing  her  by  her  first  name  for  the  first  time,  "they  say 
it's  a  long  lane  that  hasn't  got  a  saloon  at  the  end  of 
it.  I've  heard  from  Jack  Webster." 

"  What's  the  news,  Bill? "  Dolores  inquired.  From 
the  first  day  of  their  acquaintance  she  had  been  grow 
ing  increasingly  fond  of  Geary;  for  nearly  a  week  she 
had  been  desirous  of  calling  him  Bill,  which  is  a  com 
fortable  name  and,  to  Dolores's  way  of  thinking,  a 
peculiarly  appropriate  cognomen  for  such  a  distinctly 
American  young  man.  At  mention  of  the  beloved 
word  he  glanced  down  at  her  pleasurably. 

157 


*58  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Thank  you,"  he  said.  "I'm  glad  you  got  around 
to  it  finally.  Those  that  love  me  always  call  me 
Bill." 

"You  called  me  Dolores." 

"I  move  we  make  it  unanimous.  I'm  a  foe  to 
formality." 

"  Second  the  motion,  Bill.  So  am  I — when  I  care 
to  be — and  in  our  case  your  formality  is  spoiling  our 
comradeship.  And  now,  with  reference  to  the  ex 
traordinary  Senor  Webster " 

"Why,  the  poor  old  horse  has  been  down  with 
ptomaine  poisoning.  They  carried  him  off  the  train 
at  St.  Louis  and  stood  him  on  his  head  and  pumped 
him  out  and  just  did  manage  to  cancel  his  order  for 
a  new  tombstone.  He  says  he's  feeding  regularly 
again  and  has  booked  passage  on  La  Estrellita,  so  we 
can  look  for  him  on  the  next  steamer  arriving." 

"Oh,  the  poor  fellow!"  Dolores  murmured — so 
fervently  that  Billy  was  on  the  point  of  hurling  his 
heart  at  her  feet  on  the  instant. 

The  thousand  dollars  Webster  had  cabled  Billy 
"for  a  road-stake"  had  been  dwindling  rapidly  under 
the  stimulus  of  one  continous  opportunity  to  spend 
the  same  in  a  quarter  where  it  was  calculated  to 
bring  the  most  joy.  The  pleasures  of  the  Sobrantean 
capital  were  not  such  that  the  average  Yankee  citizen 
might  be  inspired  to  prefer  them  with  any  degree  of 
enthusiasm,  but  such  as  they  were,  Dolores  Ruey 
had  them  all.  In  a  country  where  the  line  between 
pure  blood  and  mixed  is  drawn  so  strictly  as  it  is  in 
Sobrante,  Billy  Geary  was,  of  course,  a  social  impos- 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  159 


sibility.  He  was  a  Caucasian  who  would  shake 
hands  and  have  a  drink  with  a  gentleman  whose 
nails  showed  blue  at  the  bases,  for  all  his  white  skin — 
and  in  the  limited  upper-class  circles  of  Buenaven 
tura,  where  none  but  pure-bred  descendants  of  pure 
bred  Castilians  intermingled,  the  man  or  woman  who 
failed,  however  slightly,  to  remember  at  all  times 
that  he  was  white,  was  distinctly  persona  non  grata. 
The  first  time  Billy  appeared  in  public  riding  in 
the  same  victoria  with  Mother  Jenks  and  Dolores, 
therefore,  he  was  fully  aware  that  for  the  future 
Dolores  Ruey  was  like  himself,  socially  defunct  in 
Sobrante.  However,  he  did  not  care,  for  he  had  a 
sneaking  suspicion  Dolores  was  as  indifferent  as  he; 
in  fact,  he  took  a  savage  delight  in  the  knowledge 
that  the  girl  would  be  proscribed,  for  with  Dolores 
cut  off  from  all  other  society  she  must,  of  necessity, 
turn  to  him  throughout  her  visit.  So,  up  to  the  night 
La  Estrellita,  with  John  Stuart  Webster  on  board, 
dropped  anchor  on  the  quarantine-ground,  Mr. 
Geary  was  the  unflagging  ballyhoo  for  a  personally 
conducted  tour  of  Dolores  Ruey's  native  land  within 
a  radius  of  fifteen  miles  about  Buenaventura.  He 
was  absolutely  bogged  in  the  quagmire  of  his  first 
love  affair,  but  until  his  mining  concession  should 
amply  justify  an  avowal  of  his  passion,  an  instinctive 
sense  of  the  eternal  fitness  of  things  reminded  Billy 
of  the  old  proverb  that  a  closed  mouth  catches  no 
flies.  And  in  the  meantime  (such  is  the  optimism  of 
youth)  he  decided  there  was  no  need  for  worry,  for 
when  a  girl  calls  a  fellow  Bill,  when  she  tells  him  he's 


160  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

a  scout  and  doesn't  care  a  whoop  for  any  society  ex 
cept  his — caramba!  it's  great! 

A  wireless  from  Webster  warned  Billy  of  the 
former's  imminent  arrival.  Just  before  sunset  Billy 
and  Dolores,  riding  along  the  Malecon,  sighted  a  blur 
of  smoke  far  out  to  sea — a  blur  that  grew  and  grew 
until  they  could  make  out  the  'graceful  white  hull 
of  La  Estrellita,  before  the  swift  tropic  night  de 
scended  and  the  lights  of  the  great  vessel  shim 
mered  across  the  harbour. 

''Too  late  to  clear  quarantine  to-night,"  Billy 
mourned,  as  he  and  Dolores  rode  back  to  her  hotel. 
"All  the  same,  I'm  going  to  borrow  the  launch  of; 
my  good  friend  Leber  and  his  protege  Don  Juan 
Cafetero,  and  go  out  to  the  steamer  to-night.  I  can 
heave  to  a  little  way  from  the  steamer  and  welcome 
the  old  rascal,  anyhow;  he'll  be  expecting  me  to  do 
that,  and  I  wouldn't  disappoint  him  for  a  farm." 

Fortunately,  good  little  Leber  consented  to  Billy's-i 
request,  and  Don  Juan  Cafetero  was  sober  enough 
to  turn  the  engine  over  and  run  the  launch.  From 
the  deck  of  the  steamer  Webster,  smoking  his  post 
prandial  cigar,  caught  sight  of  the  launch's  red  and 
green  sidelights  chugging  through  the  inky  blackness; 
as  the  little  craft  slid  up  to  within  a  cable's-length  of 
the  steamer  and  hove  to,  something  told  Webster 
that  Billy  Geary  would  soon  be  paging  him.  He 
edged  over  to  the  rail. 

"That  you,  Bill?"  he  shouted. 

"Hey!  Jack,  old  pal!"  Billy's  delighted  voice  an 
swered  him. 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  161 

"I  knew  you'd  come,  Billy  boy." 

"I  knew  you'd  know  it,  Johnny.  Can't  come 
aboard,  you  know,  until  the  ship  clears,  but  I  can 
lie  off  here  and  say  hello.  How  is  your  internal 
mechanism?" 

"  Grand.  I've  got  the  world  by  the  tail  on  a  down 
hill  haul  once  more,  son.  However,  your  query 
reminds  me  I  haven't  taken  the  medicine  the  doctor 
warned  me  to  take  after  meals  for  a  couple  of  weeks. 
Wait  a  minute,  Bill,  until  I  go  to  my  stateroom  and  do 
my  duty  by  my  stomach." 

For  ten  minutes  Billy  and  Don  Juan  Cafetero 
bobbed  about  in  the  launch;  then  a  stentorian  voice 
shouted  from  the  steamer.  "Hey,  you!  In  the 
launch,  there.  Not  so  close.  Back  off." 

Don  Juan  kicked  the  launch  back  fifty  feet.  "  That 
will  do!"  the  voice  called  again. 

"Hello!"  Billy  soliloquized.  "That's  Jack  WTeb- 
ster's  voice.  I've  heard  him  bossing  a  gang  of 
miners  too  often  not  to  recognize  that  note  of  com 
mand.  Wonder  what  he's  up  to.  I  thought  he 
acted  strangely — preferring  medicine  to  me  the  min 
ute  I  hailed  him !" 

While  he  was  considering  the  matter,  a  voice 
behind  him  said  very  softly  and  indistinctly,  like  a 
man  with  a  harelip: 

"Mr.  Geary,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  back  your 
launch  a  couple  of  hundred  feet?  When  I'm  certain 
I  can't  be  seen  from  the  steamer,  I'll  come  aboard." 

Billy  turned,  and  in  the  dim  light  of  his  binnacle 
lamp  observed  a  beautiful  pair  of  white  hands  grasp- 


162  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

ing  the  gunwale  on  the  starboard  quarter.  He 
peered  over  and  made  out  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a 
man. 

"All  right,"  he  replied  in  a  low  voice.  "Hang 
where  you  are,  and  you'll  be  clear  of  the  propeller." 

He  signalled  Don  Juan,  who  backed  swiftly  away, 
while  Billy  doused  the  binnacle  lamp. 

"That'll  do,"  the  thick  voice  said  presently.  "Bear 
a  hand,  friend,  and  I'll  climb  over." 

He  came,  as  naked  as  Mercury,  sprawled  on  his 
belly  in  the  cockpit,  opened  his  mouth,  spat  out  a 
compact  little  roll  of  tinfoil,  opened  it  and  drew  out 
a  ball  of  paper  which  he  flattened  out  on  the  floor 
of  the  cockpit  and  handed  up  to  Billy. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  very  courteously  and  dis 
tinctly  now.  "My  credentials,  Mr.  Geary,  if  you 
please." 

Billy  re-lighted  the  lamp  and  read: 

DEAR  BILLY: 

I  do  not  know  the  bearer  from  Adam's  off  ox;  all  I  know 
about  him  is  that  he  has  all  the  outward  marks  of  a  gentle 
man,  the  courage  of  a  bear-cat,  a  sense  of  humor  and  a  head 
for  which  the  Presidente  of  Sobrante  will  gladly  pay  a 
considerable  number  of  pesos  oro.  Don't  give  up  the  head, 
because  I  like  it  and  we  do  not  need  the  money — yet. 
Take  him  ashore  without  anybody  knowing  it;  hide  him, 
clothe  him,  feed  him — then  forget  all  about  him. 

Ever  thine, 

J.  S.  WEBSTER. 

"Kick  the  boat  ahead  again,  Cafferty,"  Billy 
ordered  quietly.  He  turned  to  the  late  arrival. 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  163 

"Mr.  Man,  your  credentials  are  all  in  apple-pie 
order.  Do  you  happen  to  know  this  bay  is  swarming 
with  man-eating  sharks?" 

The  man  raised  a  fine,  strong,  youthful  face  and 
grinned  at  him.  "Hobson's  choice,  Mr.  Geary,"  he 
replied.  "Afloat  or  ashore,  the  sharks  are  after  me. 
Sir,  I  am  your  debtor."  He  crawled  into  the  cabin 
and  stretched  out  on  the  settee  as  John  Stuart 
Webster's  voice  came  floating  across  the  dark  waters. 

"Hey,  Billy!" 

"Hey,  yourself!" 

"Everything  well  with  you,  Billy?" 

"All  is  lovely,  Jack,  and  the  goose  honks  high. 
By  the  way,  that  friend  of  yours  called  with  his  letter 
of  introduction.  I  took  care  of  him." 

"Thanks.  I  suppose  you'll  call  for  me  in  that 
launch  to-morrow  morning?  " 

"Surest  tiling  you  know,  Jack.  Good-night,  old 
top." 

"Good-night,  Billy.     See  you  in  the  morning." 

Don  Juan  Cafetera  swung  the  launch  and  headed 
back  for  the  city.  At  Leber's  little  dock  Billy 
stepped  ashore,  while  Don  Juan  backed  out  into  the 
dark  bay  again  in  order  to  avoid  inquisitive  visitors. 
Billy  hastened  to  El  Buen  Amigo  and  returned  pres 
ently  with  a  bundle  of  clothes;  at  an  agreed  signal 
Don  Juan  kicked  the  launch  into  the  dock  again  and 
Billy  went  aboard. 

"Hat,  shirt,  necktie,  duck  suit,  white  socks,  and 
shoes,"  he  whispered.  "  Climb  into  them,  stranger." 

Once  more  the  launch  backed  out  in  the  bay,  where 


164  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Webster's  protegS  dressed  at  his  leisure,  and  Billy 
handed  Don  Juan  a  couple  of  pesos. 

"Remember,  John,"  he  cautioned  the  bibulous 
one  as  they  tied  up  for  the  night,  "nothing  unusual 
happened  to-night." 

"  Divil  a  thing,  Misther  Geary.  Thank  you,  sor," 
the  Gaelic  wreck  replied  blithely  and  disappeared  in 
the  darkness,  leaving  Billy  to  guide  the  stranger  to 
El  Buen  Amigo,  where  he  was  taken  into  the  con 
fidence  of  Mother  Jenks  and,  on  Billy's  guarantee 
of  the  board  bill,  furnished  with  a  room  and  left  to 
his  own  devices. 

John  Stuart  Webster  came  down  the  gangplank 
into  Leber's  launch  hard  on  the  heels  of  the  port 
doctor. 

"You  young  horse-thief,"  he  cried  affectionately. 
"I  believe  it's  the  custom  down  this  way  for  men  to 
kiss  each  other.  We'll  dispense  with  that,  but 

by "  He  folded  Billy  in  a  paternal  embrace, 

then  held  him  at  arm's  length  and  looked  him  over. 

"Lord,  son,"  he  said,  "you're  as  thin  as  a  snake. 
I'll  have  to  feed  you  up." 

As  they  sped  toward  the  landing,  he  looked  Billy 
over  once  more.  "I  have  it,"  he  declared.  "You 
need  a  change  of  climate  to  get  rid  of  that  malaria. 
Just  show  me  this  little  old  mining  claim  of  yours, 
Bill,  and  then  hike  for  God's  country.  Three  months 
up  there  will  put  you  right  again,  and  by  the  time  you 
get  back,  we'll  be  about  ready  to  weigh  the  first  clean- 
up." 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  165 

Billy  shook  his  head.  "I'd  like  to  mighty  well, 
lack,"  he  replied,  "but  I  just  can't." 

"Huh!  I  suppose  you  don't  think  I'm  equal  to 
the  task  of  straightening  out  this  concession  of  yours 
and  making  a  hummer  out  of  it,  eh?" 

The  young  fellow  looked  across  at  him  sheepishly. 
"Mine?"  he  jeered.  "Who's  talking  about  a  mine. 
I'm  thinking  of  a  girl!" 

"Oh!" 

"Some  girl,  Johnny." 

"I  hope  she's  not  some  parrakeet,"  Webster  ban 
tered.  "Have  you  looked  up  her  pedigree?" 

"Ah-h-h!"  Billy  spat  over  the  side  in  sheer  disgust. 
"This  is  an  American  girl — born  here,  but  white — 
raised  in  the  U.  S.  A.  I've  only  known  her  three 
weeks,  but — ah!"  And  Billy  kissed  his  hand  into 
space. 

"Well,  I'm  glad  I  find  you  so  happy,  boy.  I  sup 
pose  you're  going  to  let  your  old  Jack-partner  give 
her  the  once-over  and  render  his  report  before  you 
make  the  fatal  leap — eh?" 

"Sure!  I  want  you  to  meet  her.  I've  been  telling 
her  all  about  you,  and -she's  crazy  to  meet  you." 

"Good  news!  I  had  a  good  friend  once — twice — 
three  times — and  lost  him  every  time.  Wives  get  so 
suspicious  of  their  husband's  single  friends,  you  know, 
so  I  hope  I  make  a  hit  with  your  heart's  desire,  Billy. 
When  do  you  pull  off  the  wedding?" 

"Oh,"  said  Billy,  "that's  premature,  Jack.  I 
haven't  asked  her.  How  could  I  until  I'm  able  to 
support  her?" 


166  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Look  here,  son,"  Webster  replied,  "don't  you 
go  to  work  and  be  the  kind  of  fool  I  was.  You  get 
married  and  take  a  chance.  If  you  do,  you'll  have  a 
son  sprouting  into  manhood  when  you're  as  old  as  I. 
A  man  ought  to  marry  young,  Bill.  Hang  the  odds. 
I  know  what's  good  for  you." 

At  the  hotel,  while  Webster  shaved  and  arrayed 
himself  in  an  immaculate  white  duck  suit,  with  a 
broad  black  silk  belt,  buck  shoes,  and  a  Panama  hat, 
Billy  sent  a  note  to  Dolores,  apprising  her  that  John 
Stuart  Webster  had  arrived — and  would  she  be  good 
enough  to  receive  them? 

Miss  Ruey  would  be  that  gracious.  She  was  wait 
ing  for  them  in  the  veranda  just  off  the  patio,  out 
wardly  calm,  but  inwardly  a  foment  of  conflicting 
emotions.  As  they  approached  she  affected  not  to 
see  them  and  turning,  glanced  in  the  opposite  direc 
tion;  nor  did  she  move  her  head  until  Billy's  voice, 
speaking  at  her  elbow,  said: 

"Well,  Dolores,  here's  my  old  Jack-partner  waiting 
to  be  introduced.  Jack,  permit  me  to  present  Miss 
Dolores  Ruey." 

She  turned  her  face  and  rose  graciously,  marking 
with  secret  triumph  the  light  of  recognition  that 
leaped  to  his  eyes,  hovered  there  the  hundredth  part 
of  a  second  and  departed,  leaving  those  keen,  quiz 
zical  blue  orbs  appraising  her  in  the  most  natural 
manner  imaginable.  Webster  bowed. 

"It  is  a  great  happiness  to  meet  you,  Miss  Ruey,'3 
he  said  gravely . 

Dolores  gave  him  her  hand.     "You  have  doubt- 


WEBSTER—MAN'S  MAN  167 

less  forgotten,  Mr.  Webster,  but  I  think  we  have  met 
before." 

"Indeed!"  John  Stuart  Webster  murmured  inter 
estedly.  "  So  stupid  of  me  not  to  remember.  Where 
did  we  meet?" 

"He  has  a  profound  sense  of  humour,"  she  solilo 
quized.  "He's  going  to  force  me  into  the  open. 
Oh,  dear,  I'm  helpless."  Aloud  she  said:  "On  the 
train  in  Death  Valley  last  month,  Mr.  Webster. 
You  came  aboard  with  whiskers." 

WTebster  shook  his  head  slowly,  as  if  mystified.  "I 
fear  you're  mistaken,  Miss  Ruey.  I  cannot  recall 
the  meeting,  and  if  I  ever  wore  whiskers,  no  human 
being  would  ever  be  able  to  recognize  me  without 
them.  Besides,  I  wasn't  on  the  train  in  Death  Valley 
last  month.  I  was  in  Denver — so  you  must  have 
met  some  other  Mr.  Webster." 

She  flushed  furiously.  "I  didn't  think  I  could  be 
mistaken,"  she  answered  a  trifle  coldly. 

"It  is  my  misfortune  that  you  were,"  he  replied 
graciously.  "Certainly,  had  we  met  at  that  time,  I 
should  not  have  failed  to  recognize  you  now.  Some 
how,  Miss  Ruey,  I  never  have  any  luck." 

She  was  completely  outgeneralled,  and  having  the 
good  sense  to  realize  it,  submitted  gracefully.  "He's 
perfectly  horrible,"  she  told  herself,  "but  at  least  he 
can  lie  like  a  gentleman — and  I  always  did  like  that 
kind  of  man." 

So  they  chatted  on  the  veranda  until  luncheon 
was  announced  and  Dolores  left  them  to  go  to  her 
room. 


168  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Well?"  Billy  queried  the  moment  she  was  out  of 
earshot.  "What  do  you  think,  Johnny?" 

"I  think,"  said  John  Stuart  Webster  slowly,  "that 
you're  a  good  picker,  Bill.  She's  my  ideal  of  a  fine 
young  woman,  and  my  advice  to  you  is  to  marry 
her.  I'll  grub-stake  you.  Bill,  this  stiff  collar  is 
choking  me;  I  wish  you'd  wait  here  while  I  go  to  my 
room  and  rustle  up  a  soft  one." 

In  the  privacy  of  his  room  John  Stuart  Webster 
sat  down  on  his  bed  and  held  his  head  in  his  hands, 
for  he  had  just  received  a  blow  in  the  solar  plexus 
and  was  still  groggy;  there  was  an  ache  in  his  head, 
and  the  quizzical  light  had  faded  from  his  eyes. 
Presently,  however,  he  pulled  himself  together  and 
approaching  the  mirror  looked  long  at  his  weather- 
beaten  countenance. 

"Too  old,"  he  murmured,  "too  old  to  be  dreaming 
dreams." 

He  changed  to  a  soft  collar,  and  when  he  descended 
to  the  patio  to  join  Billy  once  more  he  was,  to  all 
outward  appearances,  his  usual  unperturbed  self, 
for  his  was  one  of  those  rare  natures  that  can  derive 
a  certain  comfort  from  the  misery  of  self-sacrifice — 
and  in  that  five  minutes  alone  in  his  room  John 
Stuart  Webster  had  wrestled  with  the  tragedy  of 
his  life  and  won. 

He  had  resolved  to  give  Billy  the  right  of  way  on 
the  highway  to  happiness. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

ECE  in  the  afternoon  of  the  day  of  his  arrival 
in  Buenaventura,  in  the  cool  recess  of  the  deep 
veranda  flanking  the  western  side  of  the  patio 
of  the  Hotel  Mateo,  John  Stuart  Webster  sat  in  a 
wicker  chair,  cigar  in  mouth,  elbows  on  knees,  hands 
clasping  a  light  Malacca  stick,  with  the  end  of  which 
he  jabbed  meditatively  at  a  crack  in  the  recently 
sprinkled  tiled  floor,  as  if  punctuating  each  bitter 
thought  that  chased  its  predecessor  through  his 
somewhat  numbed  brain. 

In  Mr.  Webster's  own  whimsical  phraseology,  his 
clock  had  been  fixed,  on  the  instant  he  recognized  in 
the  object  of  his  youthful  partner's  adoration  the 
same  winsome  woman  he  had  enthroned  in  his  own 
secret  castle  of  love.  From  that  precise  second 
Billy's  preserve  was  as  safe  from  encroachment  by  his 
friend  as  would  be  a  bale  of  Confederate  currency  in 
an  armour-steel  vault  on  the  three-thousand-foot 
level  of  a  water-filled  mine.  Unfortunately  for 
Webster,  however,  while  he  knew  himself  fairly  well, 
he  was  not  aware  of  this  at  the  time.  Viewed  in  the 
light  of  calmer  reflection,  Mr.  Webster  was  quite 
certain  he  had  made  a  star-spangled  monkey  of 
himself. 

He  sought  solace  now  in  the  fact  that  there  had 

169 


170  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

been  mitigating  circumstances.  Throughout  the 
entire  journey  from  the  steamer  to  the  hotel,  Billy 
had  not  once  mentioned  in  its  entirety  the  name  of 
his  adored  one.  In  any  Spanish-American  country 
the  name  Dolores  is  not  so  uncommon  as  to  excite 
suspicion;  and  Webster,  who  had  seen  the  mercurial 
William  in  and  out  of  many  a  desperate  love  affair 
in  the  latter's  brittle  teens  and  early  twenties,  at 
tached  so  little  importance  to  this  latest  outbreak  of 
the  old  disease  that  it  did  not  occur  to  him  to  cross- 
examine  Billy,  after  eliciting  the  information  that 
the  young  man  had  not  lost  his  heart  to  a  local 
belle. 

The  knowledge  that  Billy's  inamorata  was  an 
American  girl  served  to  clear  what  threatened  to  be 
a  dark  atmosphere,  and  so  Webster  promptly  had 
dismissed  the  subject. 

Any  psychologist  will  tell  one  that  it  is  quite  pos 
sible  for  a  person  to  dream,  in  the  short  space  of  a 
split  second,  of  events  which,  if  really  consummated, 
would  involve  the  passage  of  days,  weeks,  months, 
or  even  years!  Now,  Jack  Webster  was  an  extra 
fast  thinker,  asleep  or  awake,  and  in  his  mind's  eye, 
as  he  sat  there  in  the  patio,  he  had  a  dreadful  vision 
of  himself  with  a  delicate  spray  of  lilies  of  the  valley 
in  the  lapel  of  his  dress  coat,  as  he  supported  the 
malarial  Billy  to  the  altar,  there  to  receive  the  prom 
ise  of  Dolores  to  love,  honour,  and  obey  until  death 
them  did  part.  As  the  said  Billy's  dearest  friend 
and  business  associate — as  the  only  logical  single 
man  available — the  job  was  Webster's  without  a 


WEBSTER—MAN'S  MAN  171 

struggle.  Diablo  !  Why  did  people  persist  in  re 
ferring  to  such  runners-up  in  the  matrimonial  handi 
cap  as  best  men,  when  at  the  very  least  calculation 
the  groom  was  the  winner? 

That  wedding  party  was  the  very  least  of  the  fu 
ture  events  Mr.  Webster's  hectic  imagination  con 
jured  up.  In  the  course  of  time  (he  reflected),  a 
baby  would  doubtless  arrive  to  bless  the  Geary  house 
hold.  Godfather?  John  Stuart  Webster,  of  course. 
And  when  the  fruit  of  that  happy  union  should  be 
old  enough  to  "ride  horsey,"  who  but  the  family 
friend  would  be  required  to  get  down  on  all  fours  and 
accommodate  the  unconscious  tyrant?  Boy  or  girl, 
it  would  make  no  difference;  whichever  way  the  cat 
jumped,  he  would  be  known  as  Uncle  Jack;  Billy 
would  drag  him  up  to  the  house  once  or  twice  a  week, 
and  he  would  go  for  the  sake  of  the  baby;  then  they 
would  make  him  stay  all  night,  and  Mrs.  Billy  would 
sigh  and  try  to  smile  when  she  detected  cigarette 
ashes  on  the  chiffonier  in  the  spare  bedroom — infal 
lible  sign  that  there  was  a  bachelor  about.  Besides, 
happily  married  women  have  a  mania  for  marrying 
off  their  husband's  bachelor  friends,  and  Mrs.  Billy 
might  scout  up  a  wife  for  him — a  wife  he  didn't  want 
— and 

No,  he  would  not  be  the  family  friend.  Nobody 
should  ever  Uncle  Jack  him  if  he  could  help  it,  and 
the  only  way  to  avoid  the  honour  would  be  to  eschew 
the  job  of  best  man,  to  resolve,  in  the  very  beginning 
of  things,  to  beware  of  entangling  friendships.  Thus, 
as  in  a  glass  darkly,  John  Stuart  Webster,  in  one 


172  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

illuminating  moment,  saw  his  future,  together  with 
his  sole  avenue  of  escape. 

All  too  forcibly  Webster  realized  that  Billy's  bally- 
hooing  must  have  created  a  favourable  impression 
in  Dolores's  mind  prior  to  the  arrival  of  the  victim; 
hence  it  seemed  reasonable  to  presume  that  when  she 
discovered  in  Billy  Geary's  Jack  Webster  her  own 
soiled,  ragged,  bewhiskered,  belligerent,  battered 
knight,  Sir  John  Stuart  Webster  of  Death  Valley, 
California,  U.  S.  A.,  extreme  measures  would  have  to 
be  taken  instantly  to  save  the  said  Webster  from 
being  spattered  with  a  dear  old  friendship  in  the 
future — and  a  dear  old  friendship  with  Dolores  Ruey 
was  something  he  did  not  want,  had  never  figured  on, 
and  shuddered  at  accepting.  All  things  considered, 
it  had  appeared  wise  to  him  to  challenge,  politely 
but  firmly,  her  suggestion  that  they  had  met. 

Of  course,  Webster  had  not  really  thought  all  this 
at  the  time;  he  had  felt  it  and  acted  entirely  upon 
instinct.  A  little  private  cogitation,  however,  had 
served  to  straighten  out  his  thinking  apparatus  and 
convince  him  that  he  had  acted  hastily — wherefore 
he  would  (a  still,  small  voice  whispered)  repent  at 
leisure.  Dolores  had  not  pressed  the  question  (he 
was  grateful  to  her  for  that),  and  for  as  long  as  five 
minutes  he  had  congratulated  himself  on  his  success 
in  "putting  it  over"  on  her.  Then  he  had  caught 
her  scrutinizing  the  knuckles  of  his  right  hand;  fol 
lowing  her  glance,  he  had  seen  that  the  crests  of  two 
knuckles  were  slightly  bluish  and  tender,  as  new  skin 
has  a  habit  of  showing  on  tanned  knuckles.  With  a 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  173 

sinking  heart  he  had  recalled  how  painfully  and 
deeply  he  had  lacerated  those  knuckles  less  than  a 
month  before  on  the  strong  white  teeth  of  a  fat  male 
masher,  and  while  the  last  ugly  shred  of  evidence  had 
dropped  off  a  week  before,  nevertheless  to  the  critical 
and  discerning  eye  there  was  still  faint  testimony  of 
that  fateful  joust — just  sufficient  to  convict! 

He  had  glanced  at  her  swiftly ;  she  had  caught  the 
glance  and  replied  to  it  with  the  faintest  possible 
gleam  of  mischievous  challenge  in  her  glorious  brown 
orbs;  whereupon  John  Stuart  Webster  had  imme 
diately  done  what  every  honest  male  biped  has  been 
doing  since  Adam  told  his  first  lie  to  Eve — blushed, 
and  had  drawn  a  little  taunting  smile  for  his 
pains. 

As  Solomon  once  remarked,  the  wicked  flee  when 
no  man  pursueth;  and  that  smile  had  scarcely  faded 
before  John  Stuart  Webster  had  unanimously  re 
solved  upon  the  course  he  should  have  pursued  in 
the  first  place.  He  would  investigate  Billy's  mining 
concession  immediately;  provided  it  should  prove 
worth  while,  he  would  finance  it  and  put  the  property 
on  a  paying  basis;  after  which  he  would  see  to  it  that 
the  very  best  doctors  in  the  city  of  Buenaventura 
should  inform  Billy,  unofficially  and  in  the  strictest 
confidence,  that  if  he  desired  to  preserve  the  life  of 
Senor  Juan  Webstaire,  he  should  forthwith  pack  that 
rapidly  disintegrating  person  off  to  a  more  salubrious 
climate. 

Having  made  his  decision,  John  Stuart  Webster 
immediately  took  heart  of  hope  and  decided  to  lead 


174  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

trumps.  He  leaned  over  and  slapped  Billy  Geary's 
knee  affectionately. 

"Well,  Bill,  you  saffron-coloured  old  wreck,  how 
long  do  you  suppose  it  will  take  for  you  to  pick  up 
enough  strength  and  courage  to  do  some  active  min 
ing?  You're  looking  like  food  shot  from  guns." 

"Billy  needs  a  vacation  and  a  change  of  climate," 
Dolores  declared  with  that  motherly  conviction  all 
womankind  feels  toward  a  sick  man. 

"So  I  do,  Dolores,"  Billy  replied.  "And  I'm 
going  to  take  it.  Up  there  in  the  hills  back  of  San 
Miguel  de  Padua,  the  ubiquitous  mosquito  is  not,  the 
climate  is  almost  temperate — and  'tis  there  that  I 
would  be." 

"You  can't  start  too  soon  to  please  me,  Billy," 
Webster  declared.  "I'm  anxious  to  get  that  prop 
erty  on  a  paying  basis,  so  I  can  get  out  of  the  coun 
try." 

"Why,  Johnny,"  the  amazed  Billy  declared,  "I 
thought  you  would  stay  and  help  run  the  mine." 

"Indeed!  Well,  why  do  you  suppose  I  spent  so 
much  time  teaching  you  how  to  run  a  mine,  you 
young  idiot,  if  not  against  just  such  a  time  as  this? 
You  found  this  concession  and  tied  it  up;  I'll  finance 
it  and  help  you  get  everything  started;  but  after  that, 
I'm  through,  and  you  can  manage  it  on  salary  and 
name  the  salary  yourself.  You  have  a  greater  inter 
est  in  this  country  than  I,  W7illiam;  and  so  with  your 
kind  permission  we'll  hike  up  to  that  concession  to 
morrow  and  give  it  the  double-O;  then,  if  I  can  O.  K. 
the  property,  we'll  cable  for  the  machinery  I  ordered 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  175 

just  before  I  left  Denver,  and  get  busy.  We  ought 
to  have  our  first  clean-up  within  ninety  days.  What 
kind  of  labour  have  you  in  this  country?  Anything 
worth  while?  If  not,  we'll  have  to  import  some  white 
men  that  can  do  things." 

"Gosh,  but  you're  in  a  hurry,"  Billy  murmured. 
He  had  been  long  enough  in  Sobrante  to  have  ac 
quired  a  touch  of  the  manana  spirit  of  the  lowlands, 
and  he  disliked  exceedingly  the  thought  of  having  his 
courtship  interrupted  on  a  minute's  notice. 

"You  know  me,  son.  I'm  a  hustler  on  the  job," 
Webster  reminded  him  brutally;  "so  the  sooner  you 
start,  the  sooner  you  can  get  back  and  accumulate 
more  malaria.  What  accommodations  have  you  up 
there?" 

"None,  Jack." 

"Then  you  had  better  get  some,  Billy.  I  think 
you  told  me  we  have  to  take  horses  at  San  Miguel  de 
Padua  to  ride  in  to  the  mine."  Billy  nodded. 
"Then  you  had  better  buy  a  tent  and  bedding  for 
both  of  us,  ship  the  stuff  up  to  San  Miguel  de  Padua, 
go  up  with  it  and  engage  horses,  a  good  cook,  and  a 
couple  of  reliable  mozos.  When  you  have  everything 
ready,  telegraph  me  and  I'll  come  up." 

"Why  can't  you  come  up  with  me?"  Billy  de 
manded. 

"I  have  to  see  a  man,  and  write  some  letters  and 

send  a  cablegram  and  wait  for  an  answer.     I  may 

have  to  loaf  around  here  for  two  or  three  days.     By 

the  wa.v,  what  did  you  do  for  that  friend  I  sent  to 

letter  of  introduction?" 


176  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Exactly  what  you  told  me  to  do,  Johnny/* 

"  Where  is  he  now?  " 

"At  El  Buen  Amigo — the  same  place  where  I'm 
living." 

"All  right.  We'll  not  discuss  business  any  more, 
because  we  have  finished  with  the  business  in  hand — 
at  least  I  have,  Billy.  When  you  get  back  to  your 
hostelry,  you  might  tell  my  friend  I  shall  expect  him 
over  to  dine  with  me  this  evening,  if  he  can  manage  it." 

For  an  hour  they  discussed  various  subjects;  then 
Billy,  declaring  the  siesta  was  almost  over  and  the 
shops  reopening  as  a  consequence,  announced  his 
intention  of  doing  his  shopping,  said  good-bye  to 
Dolores  and  Webster,  and  lugubriously  departed  on 
the  business  in  hand. 

"Why  are  you  in  such  a  hurry,  Mr.  Webster?" 
Dolores  demanded.  "You  haven't  been  in  Buena 
ventura  six  hours  until  you've  managed  to  make  me 
perfectly  miserable." 

"I'm  terribly  sorry.     I  didn't  mean  to." 

"Didn't  you  know  Billy  Geary  is  my  personal 
property?" 

"No,  but  I  suspected  he  might  be.  Bill's  generous 
that  way.  He  never  hesitates  to  give  himself  to  a 
charming  woman." 

"This  was  a  case  of  mutual  self-defense.  Billy 
hasn't  any  standing  socially,  you  know.  I  believe 
he  has  been  seen  shooting  craps — isn't  that  what  vou 
call  it? — with  gentlemen  of  more  or  less  colour;  then 
he  appeared  in  public  with  me,  minus  a  chap 
eron " 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  177 

"Fooey!" 

"Likewise  fiddlesticks!  I  should  have  had  the 
entree  to  the  society  of  my  father's  old  friends  but  for 
that;  when  old  Mrs.  General  Maldonado  lectured 
me  (the  dear,  aristocratic  soul  conceived  it  to  be  her 
duty)  on  the  impropriety  of  appearing  on  the  Male- 
con  with  Billy  and  my  guardian,  who  happens  to  be 
Billy's  landlady,  I  tried  to  explain  our  American 
brand  of  democracy,  but  failed.  So  I  haven't  been 
invited  anywhere  since,  and  life  would  have  been  very 
dull  without  Billy.  He  has  been  a  dear — and  you 
have  taken  him  away." 

Webster  laughed.  "Well,  be  patient,  Miss  Ruey, 
and  I'll  give  him  back  to  you  with  considerably  more 
money  than  he  will  require  for  your  joint  comfort. 
Billy  in  financial  distress  is  a  joy  forever,  but  Billy 
in  a  top  hat  and  a  frock  coat  on  the  sunny  side  of 
Easy  Street  will  be  absolutely  irresistible." 

"He's  a  darling.  Ever  since  my  arrival  he  has 
dedicated  his  life  to  keeping  me  amused."  She  rose. 
"Despite  your  wickedness,  Mr.  Webster,  I  am  going 
to  be  good  to  you.  Billy  and  I  always  have  five 
o'clock  tea  here  in  the  veranda.  Would  you  care  to 
come  to  my  tea-party?" 

"Nothing  could  give  me  greater  pleasure,"  he  as 
sured  her. 

She  nodded  brightly  to  him.  "I'm  going  to  run 
up  to  my  room  and  put  some  powder  on  my  nose," 
she  explained. 

"But  you'll  return  before  five  o'clock?"  Webster 
was  amazed  to  hear  himself  plead. 


178  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"You  do  not  deserve  such  consideration,  but  I'll 
come  back  in  about  twenty  minutes,"  she  answered 
and  left  him  in  the  spot  where  we  find  him  at 
the  opening  of  this  chapter,  in  pensive  mood,  jab 
bing  his  Malacca  stick  into  a  crack  in  the  tiled 
floor. 

Presently  Webster  shuddered.  "Good  heavens," 
he  soliloquized,  "what  a  jackass-play  I  made  when  I 
declined  to  admit  we  had  met  before.  What  harm 
could  I  have  accomplished  by  admitting  it?  I  must 
be  getting  old,  because  I'm  getting  cowardly.  I'm 
afraid  of  myself!  When  I  met  that  girl  last  month, 
it  was  in  a  region  that  God  forgot — and  I  was  a 
human  caterpillar,  which  a  caterpillar  is  a  hairy, 
lowly,  unlovely  thing  that  crawls  until  it  is  meta 
morphosed  into  a  butterfly  and  flies.  Following  out 
the  simile,  I  am  now  a  human  butterfly,  not  recog 
nizable  as  the  caterpillar  to  one  woman  out  of  ten 
million;  yet  she  pegs  me  out  at  first.  Gad,  but  she's 
a  remarkable  girl!  And  now  I'm  in  for  it.  I've 
aroused  her  curiosity;  and  being  a  woman,  she  will 
not  rest  until  she  has  fathomed  the  reason  back  of 
my  extraordinary  conduct.  I  think  I'm  going  to  be 
smeared  with  confusion.  A  spineless  man  like  you, 
Johnny  Webster,  stands  as  much  show  in  a  battle  of 
wits  with  that  woman  as  a  one-legged  white  man  at 
a  coon  cakewalk.  I'm  afraid  of  her,  and  I'm  afraid 
of  myself.  I'm  glad  I'm  going  up  to  the  mine.  I'll 
go  as  quickly  as  I  can,  and  stay  as  long  as  I 


can." 


As  Webster  viewed  the  situation,  his  decision  to  see 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  179 

as  little  as  possible  of  Dolores  during  his  brief  stay  in 
Sobrante  was  a  wise  one.  The  less  he  saw  of  her  (he 
told  himself),  the  better  for  his  peace  of  mind,  for  he 
was  forty  years  old,  and  he  had  never  loved  before. 
For  him  this  fever  that  burned  in  his  blood,  this 
delicious  agony  that  throbbed  in  his  heart — and  all 
on  the  very  ghost  of  provocation — were  so  many 
danger-signals,  heralds  of  that  grand  passion  which, 
coming  to  a  man  of  forty,  generally  lasts  him  the 
remainder  of  his  natural  existence. 

"This  certainly  beats  the  Dutch!"  he  murmured, 
and  beyond  the  peradventure  of  a  doubt,  it  did.  He 
reflected  that  all  of  his  life  the  impulses  of  his  gener 
ous  nature  had  been  his  undoing.  In  an  excess  of 
paternalism  he  had  advised  Billy  to  marry  the  girl 
and  not  permit  himself  to  develop  into  a  homeless, 
childless,  loveless  man  such  as  Exhibit  A,  there 
present;  following  his  natural  inclination  to  play  any 
game;  red  or  black,  he  had  urged  Billy  to  marry  the 
girl  immediately  and  had  generously  offered  a  liberal 
subsidy  to  make  the  marriage  possible,  for  he  dis 
liked  any  interference  in  his  plans  to  make  those  he 
loved  happy.  And  now 

Webster  was  forced  to  admit  he  was  afraid  of 
himself.  His  was  the  rapidly  disappearing  code  of 
the  old  unfettered  West,  that  a  man  shall  never 
betray  his  friend  in  thought,  word,  or  deed.  To  John 
Stuart  Webster  any  crime  against  friendship  was  the 
most  heinous  in  all  the  calendar  of  human  frailty; 
even  to  dream  of  slipping  into  Billy's  shoes  now 
would  be  monstrous;  yet  Webster  knew  he  could  not 


180  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 


afford  a  test  of  strength  between  his  ancient  friend 
ship  for  Billy  and  his  masculine  desire  for  a  perfect 
mate.  Remained  then  but  one  course: 

"I  must  run  like  a  road-runner,"  was  the  way 
Webster  expressed  it. 


' 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

DOLORES  had  been  gone  an  hour  before 
Webster  roused  from  his  bitter  introspection 
sufficiently  to  glance  at  his  watch.  "Hum- 
m-m!"  he  grunted  disapprovingly. 

"Oh,  I've  been  here  fully  half  an  hour,"  Dolores's 
voice  assured  him.  He  turned  guiltily  and  found 
her  leaning  against  the  jamb  in  a  doorway  behind 
him  and  farther  down  the  veranda.  She  was  gazing 
at  him  with  that  calm,  impersonal  yet  vitally  inter 
ested  glance  that  had  so  captivated  him  the  first  time 
he  saw  her. 

"Well,  then"— bluntly— "why  didn't  you  say 
so?" 

"The  surest  way  to  get  oneself  disliked  is  to  in 
trude  on  the  moods  of  one's  friends.  Moreover,  I 
wanted  to  study  you  in  repose.  Are  you  quite 
finished  talking  to  yourself  and  fighting  imaginary 
enemies?  If  so,  you  might  talk  to  me  for  a  change; 
I'll  even  disagree  with  you  on  any  subject,  if  opposi 
tion  will  make  you  any  happier." 

He  rose  and  indicated  the  chair.  "Please  sit 
down,  Miss  Ruey.  You  are  altogether  disconcerting 
—too  confoundedly  smart.  I  fear  I'm  going  to  be 
afraid  of  you  until  I  know  you  better." 

She  shrugged   adorably   and   took    the   proffered 

181 


182  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

chair.  "That's  the  Latin  in  her— that  shrug," 
Webster  thought.  "I  wonder  what  other  mixtures 
go  to  make  up  that  perfect  whole." 

Aloud  he  said :  "So  you  wanted  to  study  me  in  re 
pose  ?  Why  waste  your  time  ?  I  am  never  in  repose. ' ' 

"Feminine  curiosity,  Mr.  Webster.  Billy  has 
talked  so  much  of  you  that  I  wanted  to  see  if  you 
measured  up  to  the  specifications." 

"I  don't  mind  your  looking  at  me,  Miss  Ruey, 
but  I  get  fidgety  when  you  look  through  me."  He 
was  glad  he  said  that,  because  it  made  her  laugh 
— more  immoderately,  Webster  thought,  than  the 
circumstances  demanded.  Nevertheless  he  had  an 
insane  desire  to  make  her  laugh  like  that  again,  to 
watch  her  mobile  features  run  the  gamut  from  sweet, 
nunlike  repose  to  mirthful  riot. 

"I  can't  help  it — really,"  she  protested.  "You're 
so  transparent." 

Mr.  Webster  reflected  that  doubtless  she  was  right. 
Men  in  his  fix  generally  were  pitifully  obvious. 
Nevertheless  he  was  nettled.  "Oh,  I'm  not  so  sure 
of  that.  I  was  just  accusing  myself  of  being  a 
bonehead,  and  bone  is  opaque." 

"Perhaps  I  have  an  X-ray  eye,"  she  replied  de 
murely.  "However,  just  to  show  you  how  easy  you 
are  to  read,  I'll  not  look  at  your  silly  head.  Just 
let  me  have  your  hand,  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about 
yourself." 

"Is  there  any  charge?" 

"Yes,  a  nominal  one.  However,  I  guarantee  a 
truthful  reading;  if,  when  I  am  through,  you  are  not 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  183 

wholly  satisfied,  you  do  not  have  to  pay  the  price. 
jls  that  a  satisfactory  arrangement?" 

"Right  as  a  fox,"  he  declared,  and  held  out  his 
great  calloused  hand.     He  thrilled  as  she  took  it  in 
f  both  of  hers,  so  soft  and  beautiful,  and  flattened  it 
tout,  palm  upward,  on  her  knee.     "A  fine,  large,  use- 
iful  hand,"   she   commented  musingly.     "The  cal 
louses  indicate  recent  hard  manual  toil  with  a  pick 
•  and  shovel;  despite  your  recent  efforts  with  soap  and 
f  brush  and  pumice-stone,  there  still  remain  evidences 
of  some  foreign  matter  ingrained  in  those  callous 
spots.     While,  of  course,  I  cannot  be  certain  of  my 
!  diagnosis  without  a  magnifying  glass,  I  venture  the 
conjecture  that  it  is  a  mineral  substance,  and  your 
1  hands  are  so  tanned  one  can  readily  see  you  have  been 
working  in  the  sun — in  a  very  hot  sun,  as  a  matter 
of  fact.     Inasmuch  as  the  hottest  sun  I  ever  felt  was 
in  Xjgath  Valley,  as  I  crossed  it  on  the  train  last 
1  month,  yonr  hand  tells  me  you  have  been  there. 

"The  general  structure  of  the  hand  indicates  that 
you  are  of  a  peace-loving  disposition,  but  are  far 
from  being  a  peace-at-any-price  advocate."  She 
flipped  his  hand  over  suddenly.  "Ah,  the  knuckles 
confirm  that  last  statement.  They  tell  me  you  will 
fight  on  provocation;  while  your  fingers  are  still  stiff 
and  thick  from  your  recent  severe  labours,  neverthe 
less  they  indicate  an  artistic  nature,  from  which  I 
deduce  that  upon  the  occasion  when  you  were  in 
conflict  last  your  opponent  received  a  most  artistic 
thrashing." 

Webster  twitched  nervously.     "Skip  the  coarse 


184  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

side  of  my  nature,"  he  pleaded,  "and  tell  me  some 
thing  nice  about  myself." 

"I  am  coming  to  that.  This  line  indicates  that 
you  are  very  brave,  gentle,  and  courteous.  You  are 
quick  and  firm  in  your  decisions,  but  not  always 
right,  because  your  actions  are  governed  by  your 
heart  instead  of  your  head.  Once  you  have  made  a 
decision,  you  are  reckless  of  the  consequences.  Your 
lifeline  tells  me  you  are  close  to  fifty-three  years  of 
age " 

"Seeress,  you're  shooting  high  and  to  the  right," 
he  interrupted,  for  he  did  not  relish  that  jab  about  his 
age.  "I'll  have  you  know  I  was  forty  years  old  last 
month,  and  that  I  can  still  do  a  hundred  yards  in 
twelve  seconds  flat — in  my  working  clothes." 

"Well,  don't  feel  peeved  about  it,  Mr.  Webster. 
I  am  not  infallible;  the  best  you  can  hope  for  from 
me  is  a  high  percentage  of  hits,  even  if  I  did  shoot  high 
and  to  the  right  that  time.  In  point  of  worldly  exper 
ience  you're  a  hundred  and  six  years  old  but  I 
lopped  off  fifty  per  cent,  to  be  on  the  safe  side.  To 
continue:  You  are  of  an  extremely  chivalrous  nature 
— particularly  toward  young  ladies  travelling  without 
chaperons;  you  are  kind,  affectionate,  generous  to  a 
fault,  something  of  a  spendthrift.  You  will  always 
be  a  millionaire  or  a  pauper,  never  anything  be 
tween — at  least  for  any  great  length  of  time." 

"You've  been  talking  to  that  callow  Bill  Geary." 
Mr.  Webster's  face  was  so  red  he  was  sensible  of  a 
distinct  feeling  of  relief  that  she  kept  her  face  bent 
over  his  hand. 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  185 

"I  haven't.  He's  been  talking  to  me.  One  may 
safely  depend  upon  you  to  do  the  unexpected. 
Y our  matrimonial  line  is  unbroken,  proving  you  have 
never  married,  although  right  here  the  line  is  some 
what  dim  and  frayed."  She  looked  up  at  him  sud 
denly.  "You  haven't  been  in  love,  have  you?"  she 
queried  with  childlike  insouciance.  "In  love — and 
disappointed?" 

He  nodded,  for  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  speak. 

"How  sad!"  she  cooed  sympathetically.  "Did 
she  marry  another,  or  did  she  die?" 

"She — she — yes,  she  died." 

"  Cauliflower-tongue,  in  all  probability,  carried  her 
off,  poor  thing!  However,  to  your  fortune:  You 
are  naturally  truthful  and  would  not  make  a  deliber 
ate  misstatement  of  fact  unless  you  had  a  very  potent 
reason  for  it.  You  are  sensitive  to  ridicule;  it  irks 
you  to  be  teased,  particularly  by  a  woman,  although 
you  would  boil  in  oil  rather  than  admit  it.  You 
never  ask  impertinent  questions,  and  you  dislike 
those  who  do;  you  are  not  inquisitive;  you  never 
question  other  people's  motives  unless  they  appear  to 
have  a  distinct  bearing  on  your  happiness  or  pros 
perity;  you  resent  it  when  anybody  questions  your 
motives,  and  anybody  who  knows  your  nature  will 
not  question  them.  However,  you  have  a  strong 
sense  of  sportsmanship,  and  when  fairly  defeated, 
whether  in  a  battle  of  fists  or  a  battle  of  wits,  you 
never  hold  a  grudge,  which  is  one  of  the  very  nicest 
characteristics  a  man  can  have " 

"Or  a  woman,"  he  suggested  feebly. 


186  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Quite  right.  Few  woman  have  a  sense  of  sports 
manship." 

"You  have." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"The  witness  declines  to  answer,  on  the  ground 
that  he  might  incriminate  himself;  also  I  object  to 
the  question  because  it  is  irrelevant,  immaterial,  and 
not  cross-examination." 

"Accepted.  You  stand  a  very  good  chance  of 
becoming  a  millionaire  in  Sobrante,  but  you  must 
beware  of  a  dark  man  who  has  crossed  your  path " 

" Which  one? "  Webster  queried  mirthfully.  "All 
coons  look  alike  to  me — Greasers  also." 

"Mere  patter  of  our  profession,  Mr.  Webster,"  she 
admitted,  "tossed  in  to  build  up  the  mystery  element 
and  simulate  wisdom.  Fortune  awaited  you  in  the 
United  States,  but  you  put  it  behind  you,  at  the  call 
of  friendship,  for  a  fortune  in  Sobrante.  Now  you 
have  reconsidered  that  foolish  action  and  at  this  mo 
ment  you  are  contemplating  sending  a  cablegram  to  a 
fat  old  man  who  waddles  when  he  walks,  recalling 
your  decision  not  to  accept  a  certain  proposition  of  a 
business  nature.  However,  you  are  too  late.  The 
fat  old  man  with  the  waddle  has  made  other  arrange 
ments,  and  if  you  want  to  make  money,  you'll  re 
main  in  Sobrante.  I  think  that  is  all,  Mr.  Webster. " 

He  was  gazing  at  her  with  an  expression  composed 
of  equal  parts  of  awe,  amazement,  consternation, 
adoration,  and  blank  stupidity. 

"Well,"  she  queried  innocently,  "to  quote  Billy's 
colloquial  style:  did  I  put  it  over?" 


WEBSTER—  MAN'S  MAN  187 

You  did  very  well  for  an  amateur,  but  I'm  a 
loubting  Thomas.  I  have  to  poke  my  finger  into 
the  wound,  so  to  speak,  before  I'll  believe.  About 
;his  fat  old  man  who  waddles  when  he  walks:  a  really 
topnotch  palmist  could  tell  me  his  name." 

Well,  I'm  only  an  amateur,  but  still  I  think  I 
night,  to  quote  Billy  again,  make  a  stab  at  it.  A 
ittle  while  ago  you  said  I  had  a  strong  sense  of 
jportsmanship.  Do  you  care  to  bet  me  about  ten 
lollars  I  cannot  give  you  the  fat  party's  initials  — 
jail  three  of  them?" 

He  gazed  at  her  owlishly.     She  was  the  most  per 

fectly  amazing  girl  he  had  ever  met;  he  was  certain 

she  would  win  the  ten  dollars  from  him,  but  then  it 

was  worth  ten  dollars  to  know  for  a  certainty  whether 

ishe  was  perfect  or  possessed  of  a  slight  flaw;  so  he 

I  silently  drew  forth  a  wallet  that  would  have  choked  a 

cow  and  skinned  off  a  ten-dollar  gold  certificate  of 

the  United  States  of  America. 

"I'm    game,"    he   mumbled.     "To    quote    Billy 
again  :    '  Put  up  or  shut  up  .  " 

"The  fat  gentleman's  initials  are  E.  P.  J." 

"By  the  twelve  apostles,  Peter,  Simon  -  " 

"Don't  blaspheme,  Mr.  Webster." 

He  stood  up  and  shook  himself.  "  When  you  order 
the  tea,"  he  said  very  distinctly,  "please  have  mine 
Icold.  I  need  a  bracer  after  that.  Take  the  ten. 

%irri8  si  gj-s-jqoi  oi  aqii  TMI  Jid  one; 


188  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

added  to  what  you've  got  makes  just  a  little  bit 
more/"  she  carolled,  swaying  her  lithe,  beautiful 
body  and  snapping  her  fingers  like  a  cabaret  dancer. 

He  could  have  groaned  with  the  futility  of  his) 
overwhelming  desire  for  her;  it  even  occurred  to  him 
what  a  shame  it  was  to  waste  a  marvel  like  her  on  ai 
callow  young  pup  like  Billy,  who  had  fought  so  many' 
deadly  skirmishes  with  Dan  Cupid  that  a  post-im-j 
pressionistic  painting  of  the  Geary  heart  must  re-! 
semble  a  pincushion.     Then  he    remembered   that 
this  was  an  ungenerous,  a   traitorous  thought,  andj 
that  he  had  not  paid  the  lady  her  fee. 

"Well,  what's  the  tariff?"  he  asked. 

"You  really  feel  that  I  have  earned  a  professional's 
fee?" 

"Beyond  a  doubt." 

She  stood  a  moment  gazing  thoughtfully  down  at 
the  tip  of  her  little  toe,  struggling  to  be  quite  cool 
and  collected  in  the  knowledge  that  she  was  about  to 
do  a  daring,  almost  a  brazen  thing  —wondering  with 
a  queer,  panicky  little  fluttering  of  her  heart  if  he 
would  think  any  the  less  of  her  for  it. 

"Well— I— that  is- 

"The  cauliflower  ear  is  not  unknown  among  pugil 
ists  in  our  own  dear  native  land,  but  the  cauliflower 
tongue  appears  to  blossom  exclusively  in  Sobrante," 
he  suggested  wickedly. 

She  bit  her  lips  to  repress  a  smile.  "Since  you 
have  taken  Billy  away  from  me  this  evening,  I  shall 
make  you  take  Billy's  place  this  evening.  After 
dinner  you  shall  hire  an  open  victoria  with  two  little 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  189 

white  horses  and  drive  me  around  the  Malecon. 
There  is  a  band  concert  to-night." 

"If  it's  the  last  act  of  my  wicked  life! "  he  promised 
fervently.  Strange  to  relate,  in  that  ecstatic  mo 
ment  no  thought  of  Billy  Geary  marred  the  perfect 
serenity  of  what  promised  to  be  the  most  perfectly 
serene  night  in  history. 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

THEY  were  seated  at  the  tiny  tea  table  when 
the  sound  of  feet  crunching  the  little  shell- 
paved  path  through  the  patio  caused  Webster 
and  Dolores  to  turn  their  heads  simultaneously. 
Coming  toward  them  was  an  individual  who  wore 
upon  a  head  of  flaming  red  a  disreputable,  conical- 
crowned  straw  sombrero;  a  soiled  cotton  camisa  with 
the  tails  flowing  free  of  his  equally  soiled  khaki 
trousers,  and  sandals  of  the  kind  known  as  alpargates 
— made  from  the  tough  fibre  of  a  plant  of  the  cactus 
family  and  worn  only  by  the  very  lowliest  peons — 
completed  his  singular  attire. 

"  Hello ! "  Webster  murmured  whimsically.  "  Look 
who's  here!" 

"One  of  Billy's  friends  and  another  reason  why  he 
has  no  social  standing,"  Dolores  whispered.  "I  be 
lieve  he's  going  to  speak  to  us." 

Such  evidently  appeared  to  be  the  man's  intention. 
He  came  to  the  edge  of  the  veranda,  swept  his  ruin 
of  ^hat  from  his  red  head  and  bowed  with  Castilian 
expjmsiveness . 

"Yer  pardon,  Miss,  for  appearin'  before  you." 

She  smiled  her  forgiveness  to  what  Webster  now 
perceived  to  be  an  alcoholic  wreck.  He  was  about 
to  dismiss  the  fellow  with  scant  ceremony,  when 

190 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  191 

Dolores,  with  that  rich  sense  of  almost  masculine 
humour — a  humour  that  was  distinctly  American — 
said  sweetly: 

"Mr.  Webster,  shake  hands  with  Don  Juan 
Cafetero,  bon  vivant  and  man  about  town.  Don 
Juan,  permit  me  to  present  Mr.  Webster,  from  some 
where  in  the  United  States.  Mr.  Webster  is  a  mining 
partner  of  our  mutual  friend  Mr.  William  Geary." 

A  long,  sad  descent  into  the  Pit  had,  however, 
imbued  Don  Juan  with  a  sense  of  his  degradation;  he 
was  in  the  presence  of  a  superior,  and  he  acknowl 
edged  the  introduction  with  a  respectful  inclination 
of  his  head. 

"Tis  you  I've  called  to  see,  Misther  Webster,  sor," 
he  explained. 

"Very  well,  old-timer.  In  what  way  can  I  be  of 
service  to  you?" 

"'Tis  the  other  way  around,  sor,  if  ye  plaze,  an* 
for  that  same  there's  no  charrge,  seein'  ye're  the 
partner,  av  that  fine,  kind  gintleman,  Misther  Geary 
Sure  'tis  he  that's  the  free-handed  lad  wit'  his  money 
whin  he  has  it,  God  bless  him,  an'  may  the  heavens 
be  his  bed,  although  be  the  same  token  I  can  see  wit* 
the  half  av  an  eye  that  'tis  yerself  thinks  nothin'  av  a 
dollar,  or  five,  for  that  matther.  However,  sor,  that's 
neither  here  nor  there.  Did  ye,  whilst  in  New  Or 
leans,  have  d'alings  wit'  a  short,  shtout  spiggoty  wit' 
a  puckered  scar  undher  his  right  eye?" 

John  Stuart  Webster  suddenly  sat  up  straight  and 
gazed  upon  the  lost  son  of  Erin  with  grave  interest. 
"Yes,"  he  replied,  "I  seem  to  recall  such  a  man." 


192  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"  Only  another  proof  of  my  ability  as  a  palmist," 
Dolores  struck  in.  "Remember,  Mr.  Webster,  I 
warned  you  to  beware  of  a  dark  man  that  had 
crossed  your  path." 

"An'  well  he  may,  Miss — well  he  may,"  Don  Juan 
agreed  gloomily.  "'Tis  none  av  me  business,  sor, 
but  would  ye  mind  tellin'  me  just  what  ye  did  to 
that  spiggoty?" 

"Why,  to  begin,  last  Sunday  morning  I  interrupted 
this  pucker-eyed  fellow  and  a  pop-eyed  friend  of  his 
while  engaged  in  an  attempt  to  assassinate  a  white, 
inoffensive  stranger.  The  following  day,  at  the 
gangplank  of  the  steamer,  we  met  again;  he  poked  his 
nose  into  my  business,  so  I  squeezed  his  nose  until 
he  cried;  right  before  everybody  I  did  it,  Don  Juan, 
and  to  add  insult  to  injury,  I  plucked  a  few  hairs  from 
his  rat's  moustache — one  hair  per  each  pluck." 

"I'd  a  notion  ye  did  somethin'  to  him,  sor.  Now, 
thin,  listen  to  me:  I'm  not  much  to  look  at,  but  I'm 
white.  I'm  an  attashay,  as  ye  might  say,  av  Ignatz 
Leber— him  that  do  have  the  import  an'  export 
house  at  the  ind  av  the  Calle  San  Rosario,  forninst 
the  bay.  Also  he  do  have  charrge  av  the  cable 
office,  an'  whin  I'm  sober  enough,  I  deliver  cable- 
grajns  for  Leber.  Now,  thin,  ye'll  recall  we  had  a 
bit  av  a  shower  to-day  at  noon?" 

Dolores  and  Webster  nodded.  Don  Juan,  after 
glancing  cautiously  around,  lowered  his  voice  and 
continued:  "I  was  deliverin'  a  cablegram  for  Leber, 
an'  me  course  took  me  past  the  palace  gate — which, 
be  the  same  token,  has  sinthry-boxes  both  inside  an' 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  193 

out,  wan  on  each  side  av  the  gate.  The  sinthry 
was  not  visible  as  I  came  along,  an'  what  wit'  the 
shower  comin'  as  suddint  as  that,  an'  me  wit'  a 
wardrobe  that's  not  so  extinsive  I  can  afford  to  get 
it  wet,  I  shtepped  into  wan  av  the  outside  sintry- 
boxes  till  the  rain  should  be  over,  an'  what  wit'  a 
dhrink  av  aguardiente  I'd  took  to  brace  me  for  the 
thrip,  an'  the  mimory  av  auld  times,  I  fell  asleep. 

"Dear  knows  how  long  I  sat  there  napping;  all 
I  know  is  that  I  was  awakened  by  the  sound  av  three 
men  talkin'  at  the  gate,  an'  divil  a  worrd  did  they 
say  but  what  I  heard.  They  were  talkin'  in  Spanish, 
but  I  undhershtood  thim  well  enough.  'He's  at 
the  Hotel  Mateo,'  says  wan  voice,  'an'  his  name  is 
Webster — Jawn  Webster.  He's  an  American,  an'  a 
big,  savage-lookin'  lad  at  that,  so  take,  me  advice  an' 
be  careful.  Do  ye  two  keep  an  eye  on  him  wherever 
he  goes,  an'  if  he  should  shtep  out  at  night  an' 
wandher  t'rough  a  dark  shtreet,  do  ye  two  see  to  it 
that  he's  put  where  he'll  not  interfere  again  in  Don 
Felipe's  affairs.  No  damn'  gringo' — beggin'  yer  par 
don,  Miss — 'can  intherfere  in  the  wurrk  av  the 
Intilligince  Bureau  at  a  time  like  this,  in  addition  to 
insultin'  our  honoured  chief,  wit'out  the  necessity 
av  bein'  measured  for  a  coffin.'  'Si,  mi  general,' 
says  another  lad,  an  'To  be  sure,  mi  general,'  says  a 
thirrd ;  an'  wit'  that  the  gineral,  bad  cess  to  him,  wint 
back  to  the  palace  an'  the  other  two  walked  on  up  the 
calle  an'  away  from  the  sinthry -box." 

"Did  you  come  out  and  follow  them?"  Webster 
demanded  briskly. 


194  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Faith,  I  did.  Wan  av  them  is  Francisco  Ar- 
redondo,  a  young  cavalry  lootinint,  an'  the  other  wan 
is  Captain  Jose  Benevides,  him  that  do  be  the  best 
pistol-shot  an'  swordsman  in  the  spiggoty  army. 
'Twas  him  that  kilt  auld  Gineral  Gonzales  in  a  djuel 
a  month  ago." 

"What  kind  of  looking  man  is  this  Benevides,  my 
friend?" 

"A  tall,  thin  young  man,  wit*  a  dude's  moustache 
an'  a  diamond  ring  on  his  right  hand.  He  do  be 
whiter  nor  most.  Have  a  care  would  ye  meet 
him  around  the  city  an'  let  him  pick  a  fight  wit' 
ye.  An'  have  a  care,  sor,  would  ye  go  out  av  a 
night." 

"Thank  you,  Don  Juan.  You're  the  soul  of  kind 
ness.  What  else  do  you  know?" 

"Well,"  Don  Juan  replied  with  a  naive  grin,  "I 
did  know  somethin'  else,  but  shure,  Misther  Geary 
advised  me  to  forget  it.  I  was  wit'  him  in  the 
launch  last  night." 

Webster  stepped  out  of  the  veranda  and  laid  a 
friendly  hand  on  Don  Juan  Cafetero's  shoulder. 
"Don  Juan,"  he  said  gently,  "I'm  going  back  to  the 
United  States  very  soon.  Would  you  like  to  come 
with  me?" 

Don  Juan's  watery  eyes  grew  a  shade  mistier,  if 
possible.  He  shook  his  head.  "Whin  I'm  dhrunk 
here,  sor,"  he  replied,  "no  wan  pays  any  attintion  to 
me,  but  in  America  they'd  give  me  ten  days  in  the 
hoosgow  wanst  a  week.  Thank  you,  sor,  but  I'll 
shtay  here  till  the  finish." 


WEBSTER—  MAN'S  MAN  195 

/'There  are  institutions  in  America  where  hopeless 
inebriates,  self-committed,  may  be  sent  for  a  couple 
of  years.  I  believe  6  per  cent,  are  permanently 
cured.  You  could  be  one  of  the  six  —  and  I'd  cheer 
fully  pay  for  it  and  give  you  a  good  job  when  you 
come  out." 

Don  Juan  Cafetero  shook  his  red  head  hopelessly. 
He  knew  the  strength  of  the  Demon  and  had  long 
since  ceased  to  fight  even  a  rear-guard  action. 
Webster  put  a  hand  under  the  stubbly  chin  and  tilted 
Don  Juan's  head  sharply.  "Hold  up  your  head,"  he 
commanded.  "You're  the  first  of  your  breed  I  ever 
saw  who  would  admit  he  was  whipped.  Here's 
five  dollars  for  you  —  five  dollars  gold.  Take  it 
and  return  with  the  piece  intact  to-morrow  morning, 
Don  Juan  Cafet6ro." 

Don  Juan  Cafet6ro's  wondering  glance  met  Web 
ster's  directly,  wavered,  soeght  the  ground,  but  at  a 
jerk  on  his  chin  came  back  and  —  stayed.  Thus  for 
at  least  ten  seconds  they  gazed  at  each  other;  then 
Webster  spoke.  "Thank  you,"  he  said. 

"Me  name  is  John  J.  Cafferty,"  the  lost  one  quav 
ered. 

"Round  one  for  Cafferty,"  Webster  laughed. 
"Good-bye  now,  until  nine  to-morrow.  I'll  expect 
you  here,  John,  without  fail."  And  he  took  the 
derelict's  hand  and  wrung  it  heartily. 


I  HA     .qoorf  nwo  gitf  HOT 


196  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Do  you  attach  any  importance  to  Don  Juan's 
story?"  she  asked  anxiously. 

"Yes,  but  not  so  much  as  Don  Juan  does.  How 
ever,  to  be  forewarned  is  to  be  forearmed."  He 
sighed.  "I  am  the  innocent  bystander,"  he  ex 
plained,  "and  I  greatly  fear  I  have  managed  to  snarl 
myself  up  in  a  Sobrantean  political  intrigue,  when  I 
haven't  the  slightest  interest  either  way.  However, 
that's  only  one  more  reason  why  I  should  finish  my 
work  here  and  get  back  to  Denver." 

"But  how  did  all  this  happen,  Mr.  Webster?" 

"Like  shooting  fish  in  a  dry  lake,  Miss  Ruey," 
Webster  replied,  and  related  to  her  in  detail  the  story 
of  his  adventure  with  the  Sobrantean  assassins  in 
Jackson  Square  and  his  subsequent  meeting  with 
Andrew  Bowers  aboard  La  Estrellita. 

Dolores  laughed  long  and  heartily  as  Webster 
finished  his  humorous  recital.  "Oh,  you're  such  a 
very  funny  man,"  she  declared.  "Billy  told  me 
God  only  made  one  Jack  Webster  and  then  destroyed 
the  mold ;  I  believe  Billy  is  right.  But  do  tell  me  what 
became  of  this  extraordinary  and  unbidden  guest." 

"The  night  the  steamer  arrived  in  port,  Billy  and 
Don  Juan  came  out  in  a  launch  to  say  'Hello/  so  I 
seized  upon  the  opportunity  to  tell  Andrew  to  jump 
overboard  and  swim  to  the  launch.  Gave  him  a 
little  note  to  Billy — carried  it  in  his  mouth — in 
structing  Billy  to  do  the  right  thing  by  him — and 
Billy  did  it.  I  don't  know  what  Andrew  is  up  to  and 
I  don't  care.  Where  I  was  raised  we  let  every  man 
roll  his  own  hoop.  All  I  hope  u  that  they  don't 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  197 

shoot  Andrew.  If  they  do,  I  fear  I'll  weep.  He's 
certainly  a  skookum  lad.  Do  you  know,  Miss 
Ruey,  I  love  anybody  that  can  impose  on  me — make 
a  monkey  out  of  me,  in  fact — and  make  me  like  it?" 

"That's  so  comforting,"  she  remarked  dryly. 

Webster  looked  at  her  sharply,  suspiciously;  her 
words  were  susceptible  of  a  dual  interpretation. 
Her  next  sentence,  however,  dissipated  this  impres 
sion.  "Because  it  confirms  what  I  told  you  this 
afternoon  when  I  read  your  palm,"  she  added. 

"You  didn't  know  how  truly  you  spoke  when  you 
referred  to  the  dark  man  that  had  crossed  my  path. 
He's  uncomfortably  real — drat  him!" 

"Then  you  are  really  concerned?" 

"Not  at  all,  but  I  purpose  sleeping  with  one  eye 
open.  I  shan't  permit  myself  to  feel  concerned 
.until  they  send  more  than  two  men  after  me — say 
eight  or  ten.  A  husky  American  ought  to  be  willing 
to  give  these  spiggoties  a  pull  in  the  weights." 

His  indifference  appalled  her;  she  leaned  forward 
impulsively  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  forearm.  "But 
you  must  heed  Don  Juan's  warning,"  she  declared 
seriously.  "  You  must  not  go  out  alone  at  night." 

He  grinned  boyishly.  "Of  course  not,  Miss  Ruey. 
You're  going  to  ride  out  with  me  this  evening." 

"I'm  not.  Don  Juan's  report  has  spoiled  all 
that.  I'll  not  subject  you  to  risk." 

"Very  well;  then  I  shall  drive  out  alone." 

"You're  a  despot,  Mr.  Webster — a  regular  despot." 

"Likewise  a  free  agent." 

"I'll  go  with  you." 


198  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"I  thought  so." 

"You're— you're- 

He  rose  while  she  was  searching  for  the  right  word. 
"Will  you  excuse  me  until  after  dinner,  Miss  Ruey? 
I'd  love  to  stay  and  chat  with  you,  even  though  it 
does  appear  that  presently  we  shall  be  calling  each 
other  names,  but  the  fact  of  the  matter  is — well,  I  am 
in  a  very  serious  predicament,  and  I  might  as  well 
start  right  now  to  prepare  to  meet  any  emergency. 
For  what  hour  shall  I  order  the  carriage?" 

"Seven-thirty.  After  all,  they'll  not  dare  to  mur 
der  you  on  the  Malecon." 

"I  agree  with  you.  It  will  have  to  be  done  very 
quietly,  if  at  all.  You've  been  mighty  nice  to  me  this 
afternoon,  seeress;  I  shall  be  grateful  right  up  to  the 
moment  of  dissolution." 

"Speak  softly  but  carry  a  big  stick,"  she  warned 
him. 

"A  big  gun,"  he  corrected  here,  " — two  of  them,  in 
fact." 

"  Sensible  man !  I'm  not  going  to  worry  about  you, 
Mr.  Webster."  She  nodded  her  permission  for  him 
to  retire,  and  as  he  walked  down  the  veranda  and 
into  the  hotel,  her  glance  followed  him  with  pardon 
able  feminine  curiosity,  marking  the  breadth  of  his 
shoulders,  the  quick,  springy  stride,  the  alert,  erect 
poise  of  his  head  on  the  powerful  neck. 

"A  doer  of  deeds  are  you,  John  Stuart  Webster," 
she  almost  whispered.  "As  Kipling  would  say: 
*  Wallah  !  But  you  are  a  man ! " '  ^ 

\A.  stealthy  footstep  sounded  below  the  verq  ,^a: 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  199 

she  turned  and  beheld  Don  Juan  Cafetero,  his  hat  in 
his  left  hand,  in  his  right  a  gold-piece  which  he  held 
toward  her. 

"Take  it,  allanah,"  he  wheezed  in  his  hoarse, 
drunkard's  whisper.  "Keep  it  f  r  me  till  to-morrow, 
for  sorra  wan  av  me  can  I  trust  to  do  that  same — an' 
be  the  same  token  I  can't  face  that  big  man  wit'out 
it." 

"Why  not,  Don  Juan?" 

He  hung  his  red  head.  "I  dunno,  Miss,"  he 
replied  miserably.  "Maybe  'tis  on  account  av  him 
— the  eye  av  him — the  way  av  him — divil  such  a  man 
did  I  ever  meet — God  bless  him!  Shure,  Misther 
Geary  do  be  the  fine  lad,  but  he — he " 

"Mr.  Geary  never  put  a  big  forefinger  under  your 
chin  and  bade  you  hold  up  your  head.  Is  that  it?" 

"  'Tis  not  what  he  did,  Miss,  but  the  way  he  did  it. 
All  the  fiends  av  hell'll  be  at  me  this  night  to  shpend 
what  he  give  me — and  I — I'm  afraid " 

He  broke  off,  mumbling  and  chattering  like  a  man 
in  the  grip  of  a  great  terror.  In  his  agony  of  body 
and  spirit,  Dolores  could  have  wept  for  Don  Juan 
Cafetero,  for  in  that  supreme  moment  the  derelict's 
soul  was  bare,  revealing  something  pure  and  sweet 
and  human,  for  all  his  degradation.  How  did  Jack 
Webster  know?  wondered  Dolores.  And  why  did  he 
so  confidently  give  an  order  to  this  human  flotsam 
and  expect  it  to  be  obeyed?  And  why  did  Don  Juan 
Cafetero  come  whining  to  her  for  strength  to  help 
obey  it?  Through  the  murk  of  her  girlish  un- 
.stication  and  scant  knowledge  of  human  nature 


200  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

these  and  other  questions  obtruded  themselves,  the 
while  she  gazed  down  at  Don  Juan's  dirty,  quivering 
hand  that  held  the  coin  toward  her.  And  presently 
the  answer  came — a  quotation  long  since  learned  and 
forgotten : 

Be  noble — and  the  nobleness  that  lies  in  other  men, 

Sleeping  but  never  dead, 

Will  rise  in  majesty  to  meet  thine  own. 

"I  will  not  spoil  his  handiwork,"  she  told  herself, 
and  she  stepped  down  off  the  veranda  to  a  position 
directly  in  front  of  Don  Juan.  "That  wouldn't  be 
playing  the  game,"  she  told  him.  "I  can't  help  you 
deceive  him.  You  are  the  first  of  your  breed — 

"Don't  say  it,"  he  cried.  "Didn't  he  tell  me 
wanst?" 

"Then  make  the  fight,  Don— Mr.  Cafferty."  She 
lowered  her  voice.  "I  am  depending  on  you  to  stay 
sober  and  guard  him.  He  needs  a  faithful  friend  so 
badly,  now  that  Mr.  Geary  is  away."  She  patted 
the  grimy  hand  and  left  him  staring  at  the  ground. 
Presently  he  sighed,  quivered  horribly,  and  shambled 
out  of  the  patio  on  to  the  firing-line.  And  when  he 
reported  to  Jack  Webster  at  nine  o'clock  next  morn 
ing,  he  was  sober,  shaking  horribly  and  on  the  verge 
of  delirium  tremens,  but  tightly  clasped  in  his  right 
hand  he  held  that  five-dollar  piece.  Dolores,  who 
had  made  it  her  business  to  be  present  at  the  inter 
view,  heard  John  Stuart  Webster  say  heartily: 

"The  finest  thing  about  a  terrible  fight,  friend 
Cafferty,  is  that  if  it  is  a  worth-while  battle,  the 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  201 

spoils  of  victory  are  exceedingly  sweet.  You  are 
how  about  to  enjoy  one  fourth  of  the  said  spoils — 
a  large  jolt  of  aguardiente  /  You  must  have  it  to 
steady  your  nerves.  Go  to  the  nearest  cantina  and 
buy  one  drink;  then  come  back  with  the  change. 
By  that  time  I  shall  have  breakfasted  and  you  and  I 
will  then  go  shopping.  At  noon  you  shall  have  an 
other  drink;  at  four  o'clock  another;  and  just  before 
retiring  you  shall  have  the  fourth  and  last  for  this 
day.  Remember,  Caff erty :  one  jolt — no  more — and 
then  back  here  with  the  exact  change." 

As  Don  Juan  scurried  for  salvation,  Webster 
turned  to  Dolores.  "He'll  fail  me  now,  but  that 
will  not  be  his  fault  but  mine.  I've  set  him  too  great 
a  task  in  his  present  weakened  condition.  In  the 
process  of  exchanging  American  gold  for  the  local 
shin-plasters,  he'll  skin  me  to  death  and  emerge  from 
the  transaction  with  a  full  quart  bottle  in  excess  of 
his  drink.  Nevertheless,  to  use  a  colloquial  expres 
sion,  I  have  the  Caff  erty  goat — and  I'm  going  to 
keep  it." 

Webster  went  immediately  to  his  room,  called  for 
pen  and  paper,  and  proceeded  at  once  to  do  that 
which  he  had  never  done  before — to  wit,  prepare 
his  last  will  and  testament.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  career  death  threatened  while  he  had  money  in 
his  possession,  and  while  he  had  before  him  for  per 
formance  a  task  requiring  the  expenditure  of  money, 
his  manifest  duty,  therefore,  was  to  guarantee  the 
performance  of  that  task,  win,  lose,  or  draw  in  the 
game  of  life;  so  in  a  few  brief  paragraphs  John  Stuart 


202  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Webster  made  a  holographic  will  and  split  his  bank 
roll  equally  between  the  two  human  beings  he  cared 
for  most — Billy  Geary  and  Dolores  Ruey.  "Bill's  a 
gambler  like  me,"  he  ruminated;  "so  I'll  play  safe. 
The  girl  is  a  conservative,  and  after  Bill's  wad  is 
gone,  he'd  be  boiled  in  oil  before  he'd  prejudice  hers." 

Having  made  his  will,  Webster  made  a  copy  of  it. 
The  original  he  placed  in  an  envelope,  sealed,  and 
marked:  "Last  Will  and  Testament  of  John  S. 
Webster,  of  Denver,  Colorado,  U.  S.  A.  To  be 
delivered  to  William  H.  Geary  upon  the  death  of  the 
testator."  The  copy  he  also  placed  in  an  envelope 
marked:  "From  Jack.  Not  to  be  opened  until 
after  -my  death."  This  envelope  he  then  enclosed 
in  a  larger  one  and  mailed  to  Billy  at  Calle  de  Con- 
cordia  No.  19. 

Having  made  his  few  simple  preparations  for 
death,  Mr.  Webster  next  burrowed  in  his  trunk, 
brought  forth  his  big  army-type  automatic  pistol 
and  secured  it  in  a  holster  under  his  arm,  for  he 
deemed  it  unwise  and  provocative  of  curiosity  to 
appear  in  immaculate  ducks  that  bulged  at  the  right 
hip.  Next  he  filled  two  spare  clips  with  cartridges 
and  slipped  them  into  his  pocket,  thus  completing 
his  few  simple  preparations  for  life. 

He  glanced  out  the  window  at  the  sun.  There 
would  still  be  an  hour  of  daylight;  so  he  descended 
to  the  lobby,  called  a  carriage  and  drove  to  the  resi 
dence  of  the  American  consulate. 

Lemuel  Tolliver,  formerly  proprietor  of  a  small 
retail  wood  and  coal  yard  in  Hastings,  Nebraska,  was 


WEBSTER—MAN'S  MAN  203 

the  consul.  He  talked  through  his  nose,  employed 
double  negatives,  chewed  tobacco,  wore  celluloid 
cuffs  and  collar,  and  received  Mr.  Webster  in  his 
shirt  sleeves.  He  was  the  type  of  small-town  peanut 
politician  who  never  forgets  for  an  instant  that  to  be 
an  American  is  greater  than  to  be  a  king,  and  who 
strives  assiduously  to  exhibit  his  horrible  idea  of 
American  democracy  to  all  and  sundry,  to  his  own 
profound  satisfaction  and  the  shame  of  his  visiting 
countrymen. 

He  glanced  at  the  card  which  Webster  had  sent 
in  by  his  clerk.  "Well,  sir!"  he  began  briskly. 
"Delighted  to  know  you,  Mr.  Webster.  Ain't  there 
nothin'  I  can  do  for  you?" 

"Thank  you.  There  is.  This  is  my  will.  Please 
put  it  in  your  safe  until  I  or  my  executor  shall  call  for 
it." 

"  What ! "  boomed  the  Honourable  Tolliver .  "  You 
ain't  thinkin'  o'  dyin',  are  yuh?"  he  laughed. 

"Listen,"  Webster  urged  him,  and  Mr.  Tolliver 
helped  himself  to  a  fresh  bite  of  chewing-tobacco  and 
inclined  his  head.  Briefly,  but  without  omitting  a 
single  important  detail,  Webster  told  the  consul  of 
his  adventure  in  New  Orleans  with  the  secret  service 
representative  of  the  Republic  of  Sobrante.  "And 
not  an  hour  since,"  he  concluded,  "I  was  informed, 
through  a  source  I  consider  reliable,  that  I  am  in 
momentary  danger  of  assassination  at  the  hands  of 
two  men  whose  names  I  know." 

"Well,  don't  tell  me  nothin'  about  it,"  Mr.Tolliver 
interrupted.  "I'm  here  on  Government  affairs,  not 


204  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

to  straighten  out  private  quarrels.  If  you're  figurin' 
on  gittin'  killed,  my  advice  to  you  is  to  git  out  o'  the 
country  P.  D.  Q." 

"You  overlook  the  fact  that  I  didn't  come  here  for 
advice,  my  dear  Mr.  Consul,"  Webster  reminded  him 
with  some  asperity.  "I'm  not  at  all  afraid  of  getting 
killed.  What  is  worrying  me  is  the  certainty  that 
I'll  get  there  first  with  the  most  guns,  and  if  I  should, 
in  self-defense,  be  forced  to  eliminate  two  Sobrantean 
army  officers,  I  want  to  know  what  you're  going  to  do 
to  protect  me.  I  want  to  make  an  affidavit  that  my 
life  is  in  danger;  I  want  my  witness  to  make  a  similar 
affidavit,  and  I  want  to  file  those  affidavits  with  you, 
to  be  adduced  as  evidence  to  support  my  plea  of  self- 
defense.  In  other  words,  I  want  to  have  these  affi 
davits,  with  the  power  of  the  United  States  back  of 
them,  to  spring  in  case  the  Sobrantean  government 
tries  to  railroad  me  for  murder — and  I  want  you  to 
spring  them  for  me." 

"I  won't  do  nothin'  o'  the  kind,"  Mr.  Tolliver 
declared  bluntly.  "You  got  plenty  o'  chance  to  get 
out  o'  this  country  an  'save  international  complica 
tions.  La  Estrellita  pulls  out  to-morrow  mornin', 
an'  you  pull  with  her,  or  stay  an'  take  your  own 
chances.  I  ain't  prejudicin'  my  job  by  makin' 
myself  nux  vomica  to  the  Sobrantean  government — 
an'  that's  just  what  will  happen  if  I  mix  up  in  this 
private  quarrel." 

"But,  my  dear  Mr.  Consul,  I  am  going  into  busi 
ness  here — the  mining  business.  I  have  every  right 
in  this  country,  and  it  is  your  duty  to  protect  my 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  205 

rights  while  here.  I  can't  side-step  a  fight  just  to 
hold  you  in  your  job." 

"It's  a  matter  outside  my  jurisdiction,"  Mr.  Tol- 
liver  declared  with  such  a  note  of  finality  in  his  voice 
that  Webster  saw  the  uselessness  of  further  argument. 

"All  right,"  he  replied,  holding  his  temper  as  best 
he  could.  "I'm  glad  to  know  you  think  so  much  of 
your  job.  I  may  live  long  enough  to  find  an  oppor 
tunity  to  kick  you  out  of  it  and  run  this  consulate 
myself.  I'll  send  my  affidavits  direct  to  the  State 
department  at  Washington;  you  take  orders  from 
Washington,  I  dare  say." 

"When  I  get  them.     Good  day." 

John  Stuart  Webster  left  the  American  consulate 
in  a  frenzy  of  inarticulate  rage  in  the  knowledge  that 
he  was  an  American  and  represented  in  Sobrante  by 
such  an  invertebrate  as  the  Honourable  Lemuel  Tol- 
liver.  At  the  Hotel  Mateo  he  dismissed  the  carriage, 
climbed  the  three  short  steps  to  the  entrance  and  was 
passing  through  the  revolving  portal,  when  .from  his 
rear  some  one  gave  the  door  a  violent  shove,  with  the 
result  that  the  turnstile  partition  behind  him  col 
lided  with  his  back  with  sufficient  force  to  throw  him 
against  the  partition  in  front.  Instantly  the  door 
ceased  to  pivot,  with  Webster  locked  neatly  in  the 
triangular  space  between  the  two  sections  of  the  re 
volving  door  and  the  jamb. 

He  turned  and  beheld  in  the  section  behind  him  an 
officer  of  the  Sobrantean  army.  This  individual, 
observing  he  was  under  Webster's  scrutiny,  scowled 
and  peremptorily  motioned  to  Webster  to  proceed — 


206  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

• 

which  the  latter  did,  with  such  violence  that  the  door, 

continuing  to  revolve,  caught  up  with  the  Sobrantean 

and  subjected  him  to  the  same  indignity  to  which  he 

had  subjected  Webster. 

Once  free  of  the  door,  Webster  waited  just  inside 
the  lobby  for  the  Sobrantean  to  conclude  his  precipi 
tate  entrance.  When  he  did,  Webster  looked  him 
over  with  mild  curiosity  and  bowed  with  great  con 
descension.  "Did  any  gentleman  ever  tell  the  senor 
that  he  is  an  ill-mannered  monkey?  "  he  queried  coolly 
in  excellent  Spanish.  "If  not,  I  desire  to  give  the 
senor  that  information,  and  to  tell  him  that  his  size 
aflone  prevents  me  from  giving  him  a  nice  little 
spanking." 

"Pig!"  the  rude  one  answered  hotly.  His  olive 
features  paled  with  anger,  he  trembled  with  emotion 
and  seemed  undecided  what  to  do — seeing  which 
Webster  grinned  at  him  tantalizingly.  That  decided 
him.  No  Latin- American,  with  the  exaggerated  ego 
of  his  race,  can  bear  even  a  suspicion  of  ridicule. 
The  officer  walked  fiercely  toward  Webster  and 
swung  his  arm  toward  the  latter's  face  in  an  effort 
to  land  a  slap  that  was  "meant." 

Webster  merely  threw  back  his  head  and  avoided 
the  blow;  his  long  left  arm  shot  out  and  beat  down 
the  Sobrantean's  guard;  then  Webster's  right  hand 
closed  around  the  officer's  collar.  "Come  to  me, 
thou  insolent  little  one,"  he  crooned,  and  jerked  his 
assailant  toward  him,  gathered  him  up  in  his  arms, 
carried  him,  kicking  and  screaming  with  futile  rage, 
out  into  the  patio  and  soused  him  in  the  fountain. 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Now,  then,  spitfire,  that  will  cool  your  hot  head, 
I  trust,"  he  admonished  his  unhappy  victim,  and 
returned  to  the  hotel.  At  the  desk  he  paused. 

"Who  was  that  person  I  just  bathed?"  he  in 
quired  of  the  excited  clerk. 

"Ah,  senor,  you  shall  not  long  be  kept  in  ignor 
ance,"  that  functionary  informed  him.  "That  is 
the  terrible  Captain  Benavides— — 

"Do  you  know,  I  had  a  notion  it  was  he?"  Web 
ster  replied  ruminatively.  "Well,  I  suppose  I'm 
in  for  a  duel  now,"  he  added  to  himself  as  he  climbed 
the  stairs  to  his  room.  "I  think  that  will  be  most 
interesting." 

John  Stuart  Webster  changed  into  dry  clothing 
and  descended  to  the  dining  room.  Miss  Ruey  was 
already  seated  at  her  table  and  motioned  him  to  the 
seat  opposite  her,  and  as  he  sat  down  with  a  contented 
little  sigh,  she  gazed  at  him  with  a  newer  and  more 
alert  interest. 

"I  hear  you've  been  having  adventures  again," 
she  challenged.  "The  news  is  all  over  the  hotel. 
I  heard  it  from  the  head  waiter." 

"Coffee  and  pistols  for  two  at  daylight,"  he  an 
swered  cheerily.  "Whenever  I  see  trouble  coming 
and  realize  that  I  cannot  possibly  avoid  it,  I  generally 
take  the  bull  by  the  horns,  so  to  speak,  and  go  forth 
to  meet  it.  I  have  discovered  from  experience  that 
the  surprise  of  the  attack  generally  disorganizes  the 
other  fellow,  for  few  people  care  to  fight  an  eager 
enemy.  I  see  you  have  sampled  the  soup.  Is  it 
good?" 


206  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Excellent.  I  marvel  that  your  appetite  is  so 
keen,  considering  the  gloomy  outlook." 

"Oh,  there  won't  be  any  trouble,"  he  assured  her. 
"Duelling  is  silly,  and  I  wouldn't  engage  in  it  on  a  bet. 
By  the  way,  I  have  made  my  will,  just  to  be  on  the 
safe  side.  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  take  charge  of 
it  until  after  the  funeral?  You  can  turn  it  over  to 
Billy  then." 

She  fell  readily  into  the  bantering  spirit  with  which 
he  treated  this  serious  subject.  Indeed,  it  was  quite 
impossible  to  do  otherwise,  for  John  Stuart  Webster's 
personality  radiated  such  a  feeling  of  security,  of 
absolute,  unbounded  confidence  in  the  future  and  dis 
dain  for  whatever  of  good  fortune  or  ill  the  future 
might  entail,  that  Dolores,  found  it  impossible  not  to 
assimilate  his  mood. 

At  seven-thirty,  after  a  delightful  dinner,  the 
memory  of  which  Mr.  Webster  was  certain  would 
linger  under  his  foretop  long  after  every  other 
memory  had  departed,  he  escorted  her  to  the  open 
carriage  he  had  ordered,  and  for  two  hours  they 
circled  the  Malecon  with  the  elite  of  Buenaventura, 
listening  to  the  music  of  the  band,  and  during  the 
brief  intermissions,  to  the  sound  of  the  waves  lapping 
the  beach  at  the  foot  of  the  broad  driveway. 

"This,"  said  John  Stuart  Webster,  as  he  said  good 
night  to  Dolores  in  the  lobby,  "is  the  end  of  a  perfect 
day." 

It  wasn't,  for  at  that  precise  moment  a  servant 
handed  him  a  card,  and  indicated  a  young  man 
seated  in  an  adjacent  lounging-chair,  at  the  same  time 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  209 

volunteering  the  information  that  the  visitor  had  been 
awaiting  Serior  Webster's  return  for  the  past  hour. 

Webster  glanced  at  the  card  and  strode  over  to  the 
young  man.  "I  am  Mr.  Webster,  sir,"  he  an 
nounced  civilly  in  Spanish.  "And  you  are  Lieuten 
ant  Arredondo?" 

The  visitor  rose,  bowed  low  and  indicated  he  was 
that  gentleman.  "I  have  called,  Mr.  Webster," 
he  stated  in  most  excellent  English,  "in  the  interest 
of  my  friend  and  comrade,  Captain  Benavides." 

"Ah,  yes!  The  fresh  little  rooster  I  ducked  in  the 
fountain  this  evening.  Well,  what  does  the  little 
squirt  want  now?  Another  ducking?" 

Arredondo  flushed  angrily  but  remembered  the 
dignity  of  his  mission  and  controlled  his  temper. 
"Captain  Benavides  has  asked  me  to  express  to 
you  the  hope  that  you,  being  doubtless  a  man  of 
honour— 

"Stop  right  there,  Lieutenant.  There  is  no  doubt 
about  it.  I  am  a  man  of  honour,  and  unless  you  are 
anxious  to  be  ducked  in  the  fountain,  you  will  be  more 
careful  in  your  choice  of  words.  Now,  then:  You 
are  about  to  say  that,  being  a  man  of  honour 

"You  would  accord  my  friend  the  satisfaction 
which  one  gentleman  never  fails  to  accord  another." 

"That  lets  me  out,  amigo"  Webster  laughed. 
"Benavides  isn't  a  gentleman.  He's  a  cutthroat, 
a  murdering  little  black- and-tan  hound.  Do  I  under 
stand  he  wants  me  to  fight  a  duel  with  him?" 

Lieutenant  Arredondo  could  not  trust  himself  to 
speak,  and  so  he  bowed  profoundly. 


210  WEBSTER—  MAN'S  MAN 

"Very  well,  then,  Lieutenant,"  Webster  agreed. 
"I'll  fight  him." 

"To-morrow  morning  at  five  o'clock." 

"Five  minutes  from  now  if  you  say  so." 

"  Captain  Benavides  will  be  grateful  for  your  will 
ing  spirit,  at  least,"  the  second  replied  bitterly. 
"You  realize,  of  course,  Mr.  Webster,  that  as  the 
challenged  party,  the  choice  of  weapons  rests  with 
you." 

"Certainly.  I  wouldn't  have  risked  a  duel  if  the 
choice  lay  with  the  other  fellow.  With  your  permis 
sion,  my  dear  sir,  we'll  fight  with  Mauser  rifles  at  a 
thousand  yards,  for  the  reason  that  I  never  knew  a 
greaser  that  could  hit  the  broad  side  of  a  brewery 
at  any  range  over  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards.' 
Webster  chuckled  fiendishly. 

Lieutenant  Arredondo  bit  his  lips  in  anger  and 
vexation.  "I  cannot  agree  to  such  an  extraordinary 
duel,"  he  complained.  "  Have  you  no  other  choice? 

"Well,  since  a  fight  at  long  range  doesn't  suit  you, 
suppose  we  have  one  at  close  range.  I  propose  that 
our  seconds  handcuff  us  together  by  our  left  wrists, 
give  each  of  us  a  knife  and  leave  us  alone  in  a  room  for 
a  couple  of  minutes." 

"My  friend,  Captain  Benavides,  sir,  is  not  a 
butcher,"  Arredondo  reminded  Mr.  Webster  acidly. 
"In  such  a  fight  as  you  describe,  he  would  be  at  a 


d  tfMTj]  ffl^rWf  ii 

g^l«Btbfflffi  tefe&w*  a 

brains  out."       .T[briuo'*cnq  bwod  yd  OK  brm  ./bsoqa 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"It  is  the  custom  in  Sobrante  for  gentlemen  to 
fight  with  rapiers." 

"Oh,  dry  up,  you  sneaking  murderer,"  Webster 
exploded.  "There  isn't  going  to  be  any  duel  except 
on  my  terms — so  you  might  as  well  take  a  straight  tip 
from  headquarters  and  stick  to  plain  assassination. 
You  and  Benavides  have  been  sent  out  by  your  su 
perior  to  kill  me — you  got  your  orders  this  very  after 
noon  at  the  entrance  to  the  government  palace — and 
I'm  just  not  going  to  be  killed.  I  don't  like  the  way 
you  part  your  hair,  and  I  despise  a  man  who  uses 
cologne  and  wears  his  handkerchief  up  his  sleeve;  so 
beat  it,  boy,  while  the  going  is  good."  He  pointed 
toward  the  hotel  door.  "Out,  you  blackguard!" 
he  roared .  ' '  Vaya  ! ' ' 

Lieutenant  Arredondo  rose  and  with  dignified 
mien  started  for  the  door.  Webster  followed,  and  as 
his  visitor  reached  the  portal,  a  tremendous  kick, 
well  placed,  lifted  him  down  to  the  sidewalk.  Shriek 
ing  curses,  he  fled  into  the  night;  and  John  Stuart 
Webster,  with  a  satisfied  feeling  that  something 
accomplished  had  earned  a  night's  repose,  retired  to 
his  room  and  his  mauve  silk  pyjamas,  and  slept  the 
sleep  of  a  healthy,  conscience-free  man.  It  did  occur 
to  him  that  the  morrow  would  almost  certainly  bring 
forth  something  unpleasant,  but  that  prospect  did 
not  worry  him.  John  Stuart  Webster  had  a  religion 
all  his  own,  and  one  of  the  principal  tenets  of  this 
faith  of  his  was  an  experience-born  conviction  that 
to-morrow  is  always  another  day. 

At  about  the  same  hour  Neddy  Jerome,  playing 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

solitaire  in  the  Engineers'  Club  in  Denver,  was  the 
recipient  of  a  cablegram  which  read : 

If  W.  cables  accepting  reply  rejecting  account  job  filled 
othervvrise  beans  spilled.  Implicit  obedience  spells  victory. 

HENRIETTA. 

Neddy  Jerome  wiped  his  spectacles,  adjusted  them 
on  his  nose  and  read  this  amazing  message  once  more. 
"Jumped-up  Jehosophat!"  he  murmured.  "If  she 
hasn't  followed  that  madcap  Webster  clear  to  Buena 
ventura!  If  she  isn't  out  in  earnest  to  earn  her  fee, 
I'm  an  orang-outang!  By  thunder,  that's  a  smart 
woman.  Evidently  she  has  Jack  winging;  he  is  will 
ing  to  return  and  go  to  work  for  me,  but  for  reasons 
of  her  own  she  doesn't  want  him  to  win  too  easy  a 
victory.  Well,  I  guess  she  knows  her  own  game  bet 
ter  than  I  do;  so  I  should  worry  how  she  plays  it. 
'Implicit  obedience  spells  victory.'  Victory  means 
that  crazy  Webster  takes  the  job  I  offered  him.  All 
right!  I'll  be  implicitly  obedient." 

Two  hours  later  Neddy  Jerome  received  another 
cablegram.  It  was  from  John  Stuart  Webster  and 
read  as  follows : 

Hold  job  ninety  days  at  latest  may  be  back  before.  If 
satisfactory  cable. 

Again  Mr.  Jerome  had  recourse  to  the  most  power 
ful  expletive  at  his  command.  "Henrietta  knew 
he  was  going  to  cable  and  beat  the  old  sour-dough 
to  it,"  he  soliloquized.  He  was  wrapped  in  pro- 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  213 

found  admiration  of  her  cunning  for  as  much  as  five 
minutes;  then  he  indicted  this  reply  to  his  victim: 

Time,  tide  and  good  jobs  wait  for  no  man.  Sorry. 
Job  already  filled  by  better  man. 

When  John  Stuart  Webster  received  that  cable 
gram  the  following  morning,  he  cursed  bitterly — not 
because  he  had  lost  the  best  job  that  had  ever  been 
offered  him,  but  because  he  had  lost  through  playing 
a  good  hand  poorly.  He  hated  himself  for  his  idiocy. 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

FOR  fully  an  hour  after  retiring  John  Stuart 
Webster  slept  the  deep,  untroubled  sleep  of  a 
healthy,  un worried  man;  then  one  of  the  many 
species  of  "jigger"  which  flourish  just  north  and  south 
of  the  equator  crawled  into  bed  with  him  and  promptly 
proceeded  to  establish  its  commissary  on  the  inner 
flank  of  the  Websterian  thigh,  where  the  skin  is  thin 
and  the  blood  close  to  the  surface.  As  a  consequence, 
Mr.  Webster  awoke  suddenly,  obliterated  the  in 
truder  and  got  out  of  bed  for  the  purpose  of  anointing 
the  injured  spot  with  alcohol — which  being  done,  an 
active  search  of  the  bed  resulted  in  the  discovery  of 
three  more  jiggers  and  the  envelopment  of  John 
Stuart  Webster's  soul  in  the  fogs  of  apprehension. 
Wide  awake,  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  massaging 
his  toes  and  wondering  what  he  should  do  about  it. 
From  a  contemplation  of  his  own  case  his  mind  wan 
dered  to  Dolores  Ruey.  He  wondered  if  the  jiggers 
were  picking  on  her,  too — poor  girl!  Strange  that 
Billy  hadn't  warned  him  against  these  infernal  in 
sects — probably  it  was  because  Billy  resided  at  El 
Buen  Amigo,  where,  for  some  mysterious  reason,  the 
jigger  was  not. 

"Tis  an  evil  land,  filled  with  trouble,"  he  mused 
as  he  lighted  a  cigarette.     "I  wish  Bill  were  here  to 

214 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  215 

advise  me.  He's  been  long  enough  in  this  country 
to  know  the  lay  of  the  ground  and  all  the  government 
officials.  He  ought  to  be  able  to  straighten  this  deal 
out  and  assure  the  higher-ups  that  I'm  not  butting 
in  on  their  political  affairs.  But  Bill's  up-country 
and  here  I  am  under  surveillance  and  unable  to  leave 
the  hotel  to  talk  it  over  with  Andrew  Bowers,  the 
only  other  white  expert  I  know  of  in  town.  And  by 
the  way,  they're  after  Andrew,  too !  I  wonder  what 
for." 

He  smoked  two  more  cigarettes,  the  while  he  pon 
dered  the  various  visible  aspects  of  this  dark  mess  in 
which  he  found  himself  floundering.  And  finally 
he  arrived  at  a  decision.  He  was  well  assured  that 
his  every  movement  was  being  watched  and  reported 
upon;  doubtless  the  fact  that  he  had  gone  to  bed  at 
ten  o'clock  had  already  been  noted!  "These  chaps 
aren't  thorough,  though,"  Webster  decided.  "  They'll 
see  me  safely  to  bed  and  pick  me  up  again  in  the 
morning — so  I'll  take  a  chance  that  the  coast  is  clear, 
slip  out  now  and  talk  it  over  with  Andrew." 

He  looked  at  his  watch — eleven-thirty.  [Hur 
riedly  he  dressed,  strapped  on  his  automatic  pistol, 
dragged  his  bed  noiselessly  to  the  open  window  and 
tied  to  the  bed-leg  the  rope  he  used  to  lash  his  trunk; 
then  he  lowered  himself  out  the  window.  The  length 
of  rope  permitted  him  to  descend  within  a  few  feet 
of  the  ground,  and  he  dropped  with  a  light  thud  on  to 
the  soft  earth  of  the  patio.  The  thrifty  landlord  had 
already  turned  out  all  the  electric  lights,  and  the  patio 
was  dark. 


216  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Webster  made  his  way  to  the  street  unnoticed, 
circled  the  block,  found  a  policeman  seated  sound 
asleep  on  the  curb  of  the  narrow  sidewalk,  woke  him 
up  and  inquired  for  the  Calle  de  Concordia;  and  ten 
minutes  later  he  appeared  before  the  entrance  of  El 
Buen  Amigo  just  as  Mother  Jenks  was  barring  it  for 
the  night. 

"I  am  Mr.  Webster,"  he  announced,  " — Mr. 
Geary's  friend  from  the  United  States." 

Mother  Jenks,  having  heard  of  him,  was  of  course 
profoundly  flustered  to  meet  this  toff  who  so  care 
lessly  wired  his  down-and-out  friends  pesos  oro  in 
lots  of  a  thousand.  Cordially  she  invited  him  within 
to  stow  a  peg  of  her  best,  which  invitation  Mr. 
W'ebster  promptly  accepted. 

"To  your  beautiful  eyes,"  Webster  toasted  her. 
"And  now  would  you  mind  leading  me  to  the  quarters 
of  Billy's  friend  Mr.  Bowers?" 

Mother  Jenks  looked  at  him  sharply.  "  Wot's  up, 
sir?"  she  asked. 

"Blessed  if  I  know,  Mrs.  Jenks.  I've  come  to 
find  out." 

"Then  you've  not  come  a  second  too  soon,  sir. 
'E's  leavin'  at  daylight.  I'd  better  hannounce  you, 
sir.  'E's  particular  wot  company  'e  receives." 

She  shuffled  away,  to  return  presently  with  the 
news  that  Mr.  Bowers  was  in  his  room  and  would  be 
delighted  to  receive  Mr.  Webster.  Mother  Jenks 
led  Webster  to  the  door,  knocked,  announced  him  and 
discreetly  withdrew. 

"My  dear  Wrebster!"  cried  Andrew  Bowers  en- 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  217 

thusiastically,  and  he  drew  his  late  fellow-passenger 
into  the  room.  Webster  observed  that  Andrew  was 
not  alone.  "I  want  to  see  you  privately,"  he  said. 
"Didn't  know  you  had  company,  or  I  wouldn't  have 
intruded." 

"Well,  I  knew  I  had  company,  didn't  I?  Come  in, 
you  crazy  fellow,  and  meet  some  good  friends  of  mine 
who  are  very  anxious  to  meet  you,"  He  turned  to  a 
tall,  handsome,  scholarly  looking  man  of  about  forty, 
whose  features,  dress,  and  manner  of  wearing  his 
whiskers  proclaimed  him  a  personage.  "Dr.  Eliseo 
Pacheco,  I  have  the  honour  to  present  Mr.  John  S. 
Webster,  the  American  gentleman>of  whom  you  have 
heard  me  speak." 

Doctor  Pacheco  promptly  leaped  to  his  feet  and 
bowed  with  ostentatious  reverence;  then  suddenly, 
with  Latin  impulsiveness,  he  advanced  upon  Web 
ster,  swept  aside  the  latter's  outstretched  hand, 
clasped  John  Stuart  Webster  in  fraternal  embrace, 
and  to  the  old  sour-dough's  inexpressible  horror, 
kissed  him  upon  the  right  cheek — after  which  he 
backed  off,  bowed  once  more,  and  said  in  Spanish : 

"Sir,  my  life  is  yours." 

"It  is  well  he  gave  it  to  you  before  you  took  it," 
Andrew  said  in  English,  and  he  laughed,  noting 
Webster's  confusion.  "And  this  gentleman  is  Col 
onel  Pablo  Caraveo." 

"Thunder,  I'm  in  for  it  again,"  Webster  thought — 
and  he  was,  for  the  amiable  colonel  embraced 
Webster  and  kissed  his  left  cheek  before  turning  to 
Andrew. 


218  WEBSTER—  MAN'S  MAN 

"You  will  convey  to  our  guest,  in  English,  Don 
Ricardo,  assurances  of  my  profound  happiness  in 
meeting  him,"  he  said  in  Spanish. 

"The  Colonel  says  you're  all  to  the  mustard," 
Andrew  at  once  interpreted  merrily. 

"Rather  a  liberal  translation,"  Webster  retorted  in 
Spanish,  whereat  Colonel  Caraveo  sprang  up  and 
clapped  his  hands  in  delight.  Evidently  he  had 
looked  forward  with  considerable  interest  to  meeting 
Webster  and  had  had  his  contentment  clouded  by 
the  thought  that  Andrew's  gringo  friend  could  not 
speak  Spanish. 

"Your  happiness,  my  dear  Colonel,"  Webster 
continued,  "is  extravagant  grief  compared  with  my 
delight  in  meeting  a  Sobrantean  gentleman  who  has 
no  desire  to  skewer  me."  He  turned  to  Andrew. 
"While  introductions  are  in  order,  old  son,  suppose 
you  complete  the  job  and  introduce  yourself.  I'm 
always  suspicious  of  a  man  with  an  alias." 

"Then  behold  the  death  of  that  impudent  fellow 
Andrew  Bowers,  late  valet  de  chambre  to  this  eminent 
mining  engineer  and  prince  of  gentlemen,  Mr.  John 
Stuart  Webster.  Doctor  Pacheco,  will  you  be  good 
enough  to  perform  the  operation?" 

"This  gentleman,"  said  the  doctor,  laying  his  hand 
on  Andrew's  shoulder,  "is  Don  Ricardo  Luiz  Ruey, 
a  gentleman,  a  patriot,  and  the  future  president  of  our 


you  think  you  could  give  me  some  little 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  219 

approximate  date  on  which  you  will  assume  office? 
By  the  nine  gods  of  war,  I  never  wanted  a  friend  at 
court  so  badly  as  I  want  one  to-night." 

Doctor  Pacheco,  Colonel  Caraveo,  and  Ricardo 
Ruey  exchanged  glances  and  laughed  heartily.  "I 
must  introduce  him  to  Captain  Benavides  and  Lieu 
tenant  Arredondo,"  the  Colonel  said  slyly. 

"What!"  Webster  was  amazed.  "You  know 
about  it  already?" 

"Better  than  that,  friend  Webster.  We  knew 
about  it  before  it  happened.  That  is,  we  knew  it 
was  going  to  happen,"  Ricardo  informed  him. 

Webster  sat  down  and  helped  himself  from  a  box 
of  cigars  he  found  on  Ricardo's  bureau.  "I  feel  I 
am  among  friends  at  last,"  he  announced  between 
preliminary  puffs;  "so  listen  while  I  spin  a  strange 
tale.  I've  been  the  picture  of  bad  luck  ever  since  I 
started  for  this  infernal — this  wonderful  country  of 
yours.  After  leaving  Denver  for  New  Orleans,  I 
came  within  a  whisker  of  dying  of  ptomaine  poison 
ing.  Then  in  New  Orleans  I  took  a  Sunday-morning 
stroll  in  Jackson  Square  and  came  across  two  men 
trying  to  knife  another.  In  the  interest  of  com 
mon  decency  I  interfered  and  won  a  sweeping 
victory,  but  to  my  amazement  the  prospective 
,  corpse  took  to  his  heels  and  advised  me  to  do  the 
same " 

Ricardo  Ruey  sprang  for  John  Stuart  Webster. 
"By  George,"  he  said  in  English,  "I'm  going  to  hug 
you,  too.  I  really  ought  to  kiss  you,  because  I'm 
that  man  you  saved  from  assassination,  but — too 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

long  in  the  U.  S.  A.,  I  suppose;  I've  lost  the  customs 
of  rny  country." 

"Get  out,"  yelled  Webster,  fending  him  off.  "Did 
you  lose  anything  in  that  fracas?" 

"Yes,  a  Malacca  stick." 

"I  have  it." 

"Holy  Moses!  Jack — I'm  going  to  call  you  Jack 
— why  didn't  you  say  something  about  this  while  we 
were  on  the  steamer  together?" 

"Why,  we  played  crib'  and  dominoes  most  of  the 
way  down,  when  I  wasn't  seasick,  and  we  talked 
about  other  things.  By  the  way,  Ricardo — I'm 
going  to  call  you  Rick  for  short — do  you  happen  to 
have  any  relatives  in  this  country?" 

"Yes,  a  number  of  second  and  third  cousins.  One 
lot  bears  the  same  family  name." 

"No  relatives  in  the  United  States?" 

"No." 

"Coming  down  on  the  steamer,  I  didn't  like  to 
appear  curious,  but  all  the  time  I  wanted  to  ask  you 
one  question." 

"Ask  it  now." 

"Are  you  a  Sobrantean?" 

"I  was  born  in  this  country  and  raised  here  until  I 
was  fourteen." 

"But  you're — why,  hang  it,  you're  not  a  Latin?" 

"No,  I'm  a  mixture,  with  Latin  predominating. 
My  forbears  were  pure  Castilians  from  Madrid,  and 
crossed  the  Western  Ocean  in  caravels.  It's  been  a 
matter  of  pride  with  the  house  of  Ruey  to  keep  the 
breed  pure,  but  despite  all  precautions,  the  family 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

tree  has  been  grafted  once  with  a  Scotch  thistle, 
twice  with  the  lily  of  France,  and  once  with  the 
shamrock  of  Ireland.  My  mother  was  an  Irish 


woman." 


"You  alibi  yourself  perfectly,  Ricardo,  and  my 
curiosity  is  appeased.  Permit  me  to  continue  my 
tale,"  he  added  in  Spanish;  and  forthwith  he  related 
with  humorous  detail  his  adventure  at  the  gang 
plank  of  the  steamer  that  had  borne  him  and  Ricardo 
Ruey  south.  Ricardo  interrupted  him.  "We  know 
all  about  that,  friend  Webster,  and  we  knew  the  two 
delightful  gentlemen  had  been  told  off  to  get  you — 
unofficially." 

"How  did  you  find  out?" 

"A  leak  in  the  Intelligence  Bureau,  of  which /our 
friend  Colonel  Caraveo  is  an  assistant  chief." 

"Explain,"  Webster  demanded  peremptorily. 
"Why  all  this  intrigue  extending  to  two  countries 
and  private  individuals?" 

"Certainly.  The  Sobrantean  revolutionary  junta 
has  headquarters  in  New  Orleans.  It  is  composed  of 
political  exiles,  for  Sarros,  the  present  dictator  of 
Sobrante,  rules  with  an  iron  hand,  and  has  a  cute 
little  habit  of  railroading  his  enemies  to  the  cemetery 
via  the  treason  charge  and  the  firing-squad.  Quite 
a  quaint  fellow,  Sarros!  Robs  the  proletariat  and 
spends  it  on  the  army  with  a  lavish  hand,  and  so  in 
sheer  gratitude  they  keep  him  in  office.  Besides,  it's 
a  sign  of  bad  luck  to  oppose  him  at  the  regular  elec 
tions.  Well,  he — he  killed  my  father,  who  was  the 
best  president  this  benighted  country  ever  had,  and  I 


£28  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

consider  it  my  Christian  duty  to  avenge  my  father 
and  a  patriotic  duty  to  take  up  the  task  he  left 
unfinished — the  task  of  making  over  my  country. 

"In  Sobrante,  as  in  most  of  the  countries  in  Central 
America,  there  are  two  distinct  classes  of  people — 
£he  aristocrats  and  peons — and  the  aristocrat  fattens 
on  the  peon,  as  he  has  had  a  habit  of  doing  since 
Adam.  We  haven't  any  middle  class  to  stand  as  a 
buffer  between  the  two — which  makes  it  a  sad  propo 
sition.  My  father  was  an  idealist  and  a  dreamer 
and  he  dreamed  of  reform  in  government  and  a 
solution  of  the  agrarian  problem  which  confronts  all 
Latin-America.  Moreover,  he  trusted  the  common 
people — and  one  should  not  trust  this  generation  of 
peons.  We  must  have  fifty  years  of  education — free 
and  compulsory — first. 

"My  father  headed  a  revolution  that  was  brief 
and  practically  bloodless,  and  the  better  to  do  the 
task  he  had  set  himself,  he  created  a  dictatorship 
with  himself  as  dictator — this  because  he  was  shy 
on  good  cabinet  and  legislative  material,  the  kind  he 
could  trust  to  play  fair  with  the  people." 

Ricardo  paused.  "You  are  interested  in  all  this, 
my  friend?"  he  asked. 

"It  has  an  old,  familiar  sound,  but  crack  along." 

"My  father,  being  human,  erred.  He  trusted  one 
Pablo  Sarros,  an  educated  peon,  who  had  commanded 
the  government  forces  under  the  regime  my  father 
overthrew.  My  tender-hearted  parent  discovered 
that  Sarros  was  plotting  to  overthrow  him;  but 
instead  of  having  him  shot,  he  merely  removed  him 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  223 

from  command.  Sarros  gathered  a  handful  of 
bandits,  joined  with  the  old  government  forces  my 
father  had  conquered,  hired  a  couple  dozen  Yankee 
artillerymen  and — he  won  out.  My  father  was 
captured  and  executed;  the  palace  was  burned,  and 
my  sister  perished  in  the  flames.  I'm  here  to  pay 
off  the  score." 

"A  worthy  ambition!  So  you  organized  the 
revolutionary  junta  in  New  Orleans,  eh?" 

Ricardo  nodded.  "  Word  of  it  reached  Sarros,  and 
he  sent  his  brother  Ilaoul,  chief  of  the  Intelligence 
Bureau,  to  investigate  and  report.  As  fast  as  he  re 
ported,  Colonel  Caraveo  reported  to  me.  Sarros 
and  his  gang  are  just  a  little  bit  afraid  of  me,  because 
he's  about  as  popular  with  the  people  as  a  typhus 
epidemic,  and  strange  to  say,  this  curiously  mercurial 
people  have  not  forgotten  the  brief  reign  of  his 
predecessor.  My  father's  son  possesses  a  name  to 
conjure  with.  Consequently  it  was  to  the  interest 
of  the  Sarros  administration  that  I  be  eliminated. 
They  watched  every  boat;  hence  my  scheme  for 
eluding  their  vigilance — which,  thanks  to  you,  worked 
like  a  charm." 

"But,"  Webster  complained,  "I'm  not  sitting  in 
the  game  at  all,  and  yet  I'm  caught  between  the  upper 
and  nether  millstones." 

"That  is  easy  to  explain.  You  interfered  that 
morning  in  Jackson  Square;  then  Raoul  Sarros  met 
you  going  aboard  the  steamer  for  Buenaventura  and 
you  manhandled  him ;  and  naturally,  putting  two  and 
two  together,  he  has  concluded  that  you  are  not  only 


224  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

his  personal  enemy  but  also  a  friend  and  protector  of 
mine  and  consequently  an  enemy  of  the  state." 

"And  as  a  consequence  I'm  marked  for  slaughter?  " 

"The  first  plan  considered,"  said  Colonel  Caraveo, 
gravely, "  was  for  Captain  Benavides,  who  is  an  expert 
swordsman  and  a  marvellous  pistol-shot,  to  pick  a 
quarrel  with  you." 

"No  hope,  Colonel.  I  manhandled  'em  both  and 
declined  to  fight  on  their  terms.  I  suppose  now  I'll 
just  naturally  be  assassinated." 

"It  would  be  well,  my  friend,"  Doctor  Pacheco 
suggested,  "to  return  to  the  United  States  until 
after  Ricardo  and  his  friends  have  eliminated  your 
Nemesis." 

"How  soon  will  that  happy  event  transpire?" 

"In  about  sixty  days  we  hope  to  be  ready  to  strike, 
Mr.  Webster." 

"We  are  recruiting  our  men  secretly,"  Ricardo 
explained.  "Our  base  is  back  in  the  hills  beyond 
San  Miguel  de  Padua.  I'm  going  up  there  to-mor 
row." 

"I  was  going  up  to  San  Miguel  de  Padua  in  a  day 
or  two  myself,  Rick,  but  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  know  what 
to  do  now.  I'm  beginning  to  worry — and  that's  a 
new  experience  with  me." 

Colonel  Caraveo  cleared  his  throat.  "I  under 
stand  from  Ricardo  that  you  and  another  American 
are  interested  in  a  mining  concession,  Mr.  Web 
ster." 

Webster  nodded. 

"T~  x1---  *         a  private  landholder, 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

or  did  your  friend  secure  it  from  the  Sarros  govern 
ment?" 

"From  the  government.  We  pay  ten  per  cent, 
royalty,  on  a  ninety-nine-year  lease,  and  that's  all  I 
know  about  it.  I  have  never  seen  the  property, 
and  my  object  in  coming  was  to  examine  it  and,  if 
satisfied,  finance  the  project." 

"If  you  will  return  to  your  hotel,  my  dear  sir," 
Colonel  Caraveo  suggested,  "and  remain  there  until 
noon  to-morrow,  I  feel  confident  I  can  guarantee  you 
immunity  from  attack  thereafter.  I  have  a  plan  to 
influence  my  associates  in  the  Intelligence  Office." 

"Bully  for  you,  Colonel.  Give  me  sixty  days  in 
which  to  operate,  and  I'll  have  finished  my  job  in 
Sobrante  and  gotten  out  of  it  before  that  gang  of 
cutthroats  wakes  up  to  the  fact  that  I'm  gone.  I 
thank  you,  sir." 

"The  least  we  can  do,  since  you  have  saved 
Ricardo's  life  and  rendered  our  cause  a  great  service, 
is  to  save  your  life,"  Colonel  Caraveo  replied. 

"  This  is  more  comfort  than  I  had  hoped  for  when 
I  came  here,  gentlemen.  I  am  very  grateful,  I 
assure  you.  Of  course  this  little  revolution  you're 
cooking  up  is  no  affair  of  mine,  and  I  trust  I  need  not 
assure  you  that  your  confidence  is  quite  safe  with 
me." 

The  Doctor  and  the  Colonel  immediately  rose 
and  bowed  like  a  pair  of  marionettes.  Webster 
turned  to  Ricardo. 

"Have  you  had  any  experience  in  revolutions,  my 
son?"  he  asked. 


226  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Ricardo  nodded.  "I  realized  I  had  to  have  ex 
perience,  and  so  I  went  to  Mexico.  I  was  with 
Madero  through  the  first  revolution." 

"How  are  you  arming  your  men?" 

"Mannlichers.  I've  got  five  thousand  of  them. 
Cost  me  twelve  dollars  each.  I've  got  twenty  mil 
lion  rounds  of  cartridges,  twenty-five  machine- 
guns,  and  a  dozen  three-inch  field-guns.  I  have 
also  engaged  two  hundred  American  ex-soldiers  to 
handle  the  machine-guns  and  the  battery.  These 
rascals  cost  me  five  dollars  a  day  gold,  but  they're 
worth  it;  they  like  fighting  and  will  go  anywhere  to 
get  it — and  are  faithful." 

"You  are  secretly  mobilizing  in  the  mountains, 
eh?"  Webster  rubbed  his  chin  ruminatively.  "Then 
I  take  it  you'll  attack  Buenaventura  when  you  strike 
the  first  blow?" 

"Quite  right.  We  must  capture  a  seaport  if  we 
are  to  re  volute  successfully." 

"I'm  glad  to  know  that.  I'll  make  it  my  business 
to  be  up  in  the  mountains  at  the  time.  I'm  for  peace, 
every  rattle  out  of  the  box.  Gentlemen,  you've 
cheered  me  wonderfully.  I  will  now  go  home  and 
leave  you  to  your  evil  machinations;  and,  the  good 
Lord  and  the  jiggers  willing,  I  shall  yet  glean  a  night's 
sleep." 

He  shook  hands  all  around  and  took  his  departure. 

Mother  Jenks  was  waiting  for  Webster  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs.  He  paused  on  the  threshold. 

"Mrs.  Jenks,"  he  said,  "Billy  tells  me  you  have 
been  very  kind  to  him.  I  want  to  tell  you  how  much 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  227 

I  appreciate  it  and  that  I  stand  willing  to  reciprocate 
any  time  you  are  in  need." 

Mother  Jenks  fingered  her  beard  and  reflected. 
"  'Ave  you  met  Miss  Dolores  Ruey,  sir?  "  she  queried. 

"Your  ward?     Yes." 

"'Ow  does  the  lamb  strike  you,  Mr.  Webster?" 

" I  have  never  met  many  women;  I  have  known  few 
intimately;  but  I  should  say  that  Miss  Dolores  Ruey 
is  the  marvel  of  her  sex.  She  is  as  beautiful  as  she  is 
good,  as  good  as  she  is  intelligent,  and  as  intelligent 
as  she  can  be." 

"She's  a  lydy,  sir,"  Mother  Jenks  affirmed  proudly. 
"An'  I  done  it.  You  can  see  with  arf  a  heye  wot  I 
am,  but  for  all  that,  I've  done  my  dooty  Jby  her. 
From  the  day  my  sainted  'Enery — 'e  was  a  colonel  o' 
hartillery  under  President  Ruey,  Dolores's  father — 
hescaped  from  the  burnin'  palace  with  'er  an'  told 
me  to  raise  'er  a  lydy  for  the  syke  of  her  father,  as  was 
the  finest  gentleman  this  rotten  country'll  ever  see, 
she's  been  my  guidin'  star.  She's  self-supportin' 
now,  but  still  I  ain't  done  my  whole  dooty  by  her. 
I  want  to  see  'er  married  to  a  gentleman  as'll  main 
tain  'er  like  a  lydy." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Jenks,  I  think  you  will  live  to  see  that 
worthy  ambition,  attained.  Mr.  Geary  is  head  over 
heels  in  love  with  her." 

"Aye.  Willie's  a  nice  lad — I  could  wish  no  better; 
but  wot  'e's  got  'e  got  from  you,  an'  where'll  'e  be  if 
'is  mine  doesn't  p'y  big?  Now,  with  you,  sir,  it's 
different.  You're  a  bit  oldern'  Billy,  an'  more  settled 
an'  serious;  you've  made  yer  fortune,  so  Willie  tells 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

me,  an',  not  to  go  beatin'  about  the  bally  bush,  I  s'y, 
wot's  the  matter  with  you  an'  her  steppin'  over  the 
broomstick  together?  You  might  go  a  bloomin* 
sight  farther  an'  fare  wuss." 

"Too  old,  my  dear  schemer,  too  old!"  John  Stuart 
replied  smilingly.  "And  she's  in  love  with  Billy. 
Don't  worry.  If  he  doesn't  make  a  go  of  this  mining 
concession,  I'll  take  care  of  his  finances  until  he  can 
do  so  himself.  I  do  not  mind  telling  you,  in  strictest 
confidence,  that  I  have  made  my  will  and  divided  my 
money  equally  between  them." 

"Gord  bless  you,  for  a  sweet,  kind  gentleman," 
Mother  Jenks  gulped,  quite  overcome  with  emotion. 

Hastily  Webster  bade  Mother  Jenks  good-night 
and  hurried  away  to  escape  a  discussion  on  such  a 
delicate  topic  with  Billy's  blunt  and  single-minded 
landlady.  His  mind  was  in  a  tumult.  So  it  was 
that  he  paid  no  attention  to  a  vehicle  that  jogged  by 
him  with  the  cochero  sagging  low  in  his  seat,  half 
asleep  over  the  reins,  until  a  quick  command  from 
the  closed  interior  brought  the  vehicle  to  an  abrupt 
halt,  half  a  block  in  advance  of  Webster. 

Save  for  an  arc-light  at  each  end  of  the  block,  the 
Calle  de  Concordia  was  dim;  save  for  Webster,  the 
carriage  and  the  two  men  who  piled  hurriedly  out  at 
the  rear  of  the  conveyance,  the  Calle  de  Concordia 
was  devoid  of  life.  Webster  saw  one  of  the  men  hur 
riedly  toss  a  coin  to  the  cochero;  with  a  fervent  "  Gra- 
cias,  mi  capitan,"  the  driver  clucked  to  his  horse, 
turned  the  corner  into  the  Calle  Elizondo  and  disap 
peared,  leaving  his  late  passengers  facing  Webster 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  229 

and  calmly  awaiting  his  approach.  He  was  within 
twenty  feet  of  them  when  the  taller  of  the  two  men 
spoke. 

"  Good  evening,  my  American  friend.  This  meet 
ing  is  a  pleasure  we  scarcely  hoped  to  have  so  soon. 
For  the  same  we  are  indebted  to  Lieutenant  Arre- 
dondo,  who  happened  to  look  back  as  we  passed  you, 
and  recognized  you  under  the  arc-light." 

Webster  halted  abruptly;  the  two  Sobrantean 
officers  stood  smiling  and  evidently  enjoying  his  dis 
comfort.  Each  carried  a  service  revolver  in  a  closed 
holster  fastened  to  his  sword-belt,  but  neither  had  as 
yet  made  a  move  to  draw — seeing  which,  Webster 
felt  sufficiently  reassured  to  accept  the  unwelcome 
situation  with  a  grace  equal  to  that  of  his  en 
emies. 

"What?  You  two  bad  little  boys  up  this  late! 
I'm  surprised,"  he  replied  in  Spanish.  He  folded 
his  arms,  struck  an  attitude  and  surveyed  them  as 
might  an  indignant  father.  "You  kids  have  been 
up  to  some  mischief,"  he  added,  as  his  right  hand 
closed  over  the  butt  of  his  automatic,  where  it  lay 
snuggled  in  the  open  bolster  under  his  left  arm  be 
tween  his  shirt  and  coat.  "  Can  it  be  possible  you  are 
going  to  take  advantage  of  superior  numbers  and  the 
fact  that  you  are  both  armed,  to  force  me  into  a  duel 
on  your  terms,  my  dear  Captain  Benavides?" 

By  a  deferential  bow,  the  unwholesome  Benavides 
indicated  that  such  were  his  intentions.  "Then," 
said  Webster,  "as  the  challenged  party  I  have  the 
choice  of  weapons.  I  choose  pistols." 


£30  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"At  what  range?  "  the  Lieutenant  asked  with  mock 
interest. 

"As  we  stand  at  present.  I'm  armed.  Pull  your 
hardware,  you  pretty  pair  of  polecats,  and  see  if  you 
can  beat  me  to  the  draw." 

Captain  Benavides's  jaw  dropped  slightly;  with 
a  quiet,  deliberate  motion  his  hand  stole  to  his  holster- 
flap.  Lieutenant  Arredondo  wet  his  lips  and  glanced 
so  apprehensively  at  his  companion  that  Webster 
was  aware  that  here  was  a  situation  not  to  his  liking. 

"You  should  use  an  open  holster,"  Webster 
taunted.  "  Come,  come — unbutton  that  holster-flap 
and  get  busy." 

Benavides's  hand  came  away  from  the  holster.  He 
was  not  the  least  bit  frightened,  but  his  sense  of 
proportion  in  matters  of  this  kind  was  undergoing  a 
shake-up. 

"In  disposing  of  any  enemy  in  a  gun  fight,  so  a 
professional  killer  once  informed  me,"  Webster  con 
tinued,  "it  is  a  good  plan  to  put  your  first  bullet 
anywhere  in  the  abdomen;  the  shock  of  a  bullet 
there  paralyzes  your  opponent  for  a  few  seconds  and 
prevents  him  from  returning  the  compliment,  and 
in  the  interim  you  blow  his  brains  out  while  he  lies 
looking  at  you.  I  have  never  had  any  practical 
experience  in  matters  of  this  kind,  but  I  don't  mind 
telling  you  that  if  I  must  practise  on  somebody,  the 
good  Lord  could  not  have  provided  two  more  de 
lightful  subjects." 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  for  nearly  half  a  minute 
the  three  men  appraised  each  other.  Benavides  was 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  231 

smiling  slightly;  Arredondo  was  fidgeting;  Webster's 
glance  never  faltered  from  the  Captain's  nervous 
hand. 

"You  would  be  very  foolish  to  draw,"  Webster 
then  assured  Benavides.  "If  I  am  forced  to  kill  you, 
it  will  be  with  profound  regret.  Suppose  you  two 
dear,  sweet  children  run  along  home  and  think  this 
thing  over.  You  may  change  your  mind  by  to-mor 
row  morn " 

The  Captain's  hand,  with  the  speed  of  a  juggler's, 
had  flown  to  his  holster;  but  quick  as  he  was,  Web 
ster  was  a  split-second  quicker.  The  sound  of  his 
shot  roared  through  the  silent  calle,  and  Benavides, 
with  his  pistol  half  drawn,  lifted  a  bloody,  shattered 
hand  from  the  butt  as  Webster's  automatic  swept  in 
a  swift  arc  and  covered  Arredondo,  whose  arms  on  the 
instant  went  skyward. 

"That  wasn't  a  half -bad  duel,"  Webster  remarked 
coldly.  "Are  you  not  obliged  to  me,  Captain,  for 
not  blowing  your  brains  out — for  disregarding  my 
finer  instincts  and  refraining  from  shooting  you  first 
through  the  abdomen?  Bless  you,  my  boy,  I've 
been  stuck  for  years  in  places  where  the  only  sport 
consisted  in  seeing  who  could  take  a  revolver,  shoot 
at  a  tin  can  and  roll  it  farthest  in  three  seconds.  Let 
me  see  your  hand." 

Benavides  sullenly  held  up  that  dripping  member, 
and  Webster  inspected  it  at  a  respectful  distance. 
"Steel-jacket  bullet,"  he  informed  the  wounded  man. 
"Small  hole — didn't  do  much  damage.  You'll  be 
just  as  well  as  ever  in  a  month." 


232  WEBSTER—MAN'S  MAN 

He  helped  himself  to  Arredondo's  gun,  flipped 
out  the  cylinder,  and  slipped  all  six  cartridges  into  his 
palm.  Similarly  he  disarmed  Benavides,  expressed 
his  regret  that  circumstances  had  rendered  it  impera 
tive  to  use  force,  and  strolled  blithely  down  the  calle. 
In  the  darkened  patio  he  groped  along  the  wall  until  he 
found  the  swinging  rope  by  which  he  had  descended 
from  his  room — whereupon  he  removed  his  shoes, 
tied  the  laces  together,  slung  them  around  his  neck, 
dug  his  toes  into  the  adobe  wall  and  climbed  briskly 
to  his  room. 


,  CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

THE  next  morning  Webster  waited  until 
Dolores  appeared  and  then  accompanied  her 
into  the  dining  room  for  breakfast. 

"Well,  how  did  you  pass  your  first  night  in  Buena 
ventura?"  she  inquired,  in  the  manufacture  of  break 
fast  conversation. 

"Not  very  well.  Jiggers  bit  me  and  woke  me  up, 
and  finally  I  fell  into  a  trance  and  had  a  vision — 
about  you.  After  that  I  couldn't  get  to  sleep  again. 
I  was  fairly  bursting  to  see  you  at  breakfast  and  read 
your  palm.  I've  just  discovered  a  wonderful  system." 

"Show  me,"  she  flashed  back  at  him,  and  she 
extended  her  little  hand.  He  picked  it  up  gravely 
and  with  the  dull  tine  of  a  fork  made  a  great  show  of 
tracing  the  lines  on  her  palm. 

"You  are  about  twenty-four  years  old,  and  your 
ancestors  were  pure-bred  Castilians  who  came  from 
Madrid,  crossing  the  Atlantic  in  caravels.  Ever 
since  the  first  Ruey  landed  on  this  coast  the  family 
has  been  identified  with  the  government  of  the  coun 
try  in  one  way  or  another.  Also,  Scotch,  French,  and 
Irish  blood  has  been  infused  into  the  tribe;  your 
mother  was  an  Irish  woman.  When  you  were  quite 
a  little  girl,  your  father,  Don  Ricardo  Ruey,  at  that 
time  president  of  Sobrante,  failed  to  suppress  a 


234  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

revolution  and  was  cornered  in  the  government 
palace,  which  was  set  afire. 

"Through  the  bravery  and  devotion  of  a  cockney 
gentleman,  Colonel  Henry  Jenks,  an  artillery  officer 
in  your  father's  army,  you  were  saved  from  perishing 
in  the  burning  palace.  Colonel  Jenks  turned  you 
over  to  his  spouse,  now  known  as  Mother  Jenks, 
with  instructions  to  raise  you  a  lydy,  and  Mother 
Jenks  has  carried  out  those  instructions.  Colonel 
Jenks  and  your  father  were  executed,  and  Mother 
Jenks  sent  you  to  the  United  States  to  be  educated. 
You  had  a  brother,  Ricardo  Luis  Ruey,  older  than 
yourself  by  seven  or  eight  years,  I  should  judge. 
In  some  mysterious  manner  you  and  your  brother 
lost  track  of  each  other,  and  at  the  present  moment 
he  believes  you  perished  in  the  flames  that  gutted  the 
government  palace. 

"You  are  of  a  proud,  independent  nature;  you 
work  at  something-.for  a  living,  and  inasmuch  as  you 
haven't  been  able  to  set  aside  a  great  deal  of  money 
from  your  earnings,  you  are  planning  to  terminate 
your  visit  to  your  native  land  at  an  early  date  and 
return  to  the  United  States  for  the  purpose  of  getting 
back  to  work.  These  plans,  however,  will  never  be 
consummated. 

"Why?  Because  you  are  to  be  married  to  a  nice 
man  and  live  happily  ever  afterward;  and  about  sixty 
days  from  now,  if  all  goes  well,  I,  John  S.  Webster, 
am  going  to  introduce  you  to  your  long-lost  brother 
Ricarda  You  will  first  see  Ricardo  riding  at  the 
head  of  his  victorious  rebel  troops  as  he  enters  Buena- 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  235 

ventura.  He  will  be  the  next  president  of  this 
wretched  country,  if,  fortunately,  he  is  not  killed  in 
the  revolution  he  is  now  fomenting  against  his  father's 
ancient  enemy.  Your  brother  does  not  know  you  are 
living,  and  it  will  be  a  proud  and  happy  day  for  me 
when  I  bring  him  to  you.  In  the  interim,  what  do 
you  purpose  having  for  breakfast?  Ham  and  eggs 
sunny  side  up,  an  omelette  or  a  cereal?" 

He  released  her  hand  and  favoured  her  with  the 
boyish  grin  that  always  had  the  effect  of  stripping 
the  years  from  him  as  one  strips  the  husk  from  a  ripe 
ear  of  corn.  She  was  gazing  at  him  in  wide-eyed 
amazement. 

"Oh,  don't  doubt  me,"  he  pleaded.  "It  will  all 
come  out  just  as  I  have  told  you.  Of  course,  I  don't 
go  in  for  telling  fortunes  very  often;  I'm  a  slow  old 
horse  to  start,  but  once  I  sneak  into  the  collar,  some 
thing  has  to  give." 

"Is  my  brother  really  alive?" 

"He  was  as  late  as  midnight  last  night.  Do  you 
recall  the  chap  I  saved  from  being  assassinated  in 
New  Orleans?" 

"Yes." 

"Your  worthy  brother.  And  do  you  recall  the 
chauffeur  whose  passage  to  this  port  I  was  forced  to 
pay?" 

"Yes." 

"The  same  individual.  I  sent  him  ashore  in  the 
launch  with  Billy,  and  he  has  been  housed  at  El  Buen 
Amigo,  but  left  early  this  morning  for  the  back- 
country  to  open  a  recruiting  office." 


230  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"And  you  have  known  this  all  along  and  wouldn't 
tell  me?"  she  reproved  him. 

"Didn't  discover  it  until  after  I  had  left  him  last 
night;  then  I  put  two  and  two  together  and  made 
four." 

"Oh,  I  can  hardly  believe  it." 

"I  never  lie." 

"Never?" 

"I  mean  on  serious  matters.  And  you  needn't 
cry  about  it,  Miss  Ruey.  I  do  not  purpose  being  the 
bearer  of  welcome  news  and  having  my  breakfast 
ruined  for  my  reward." 

She  reached  across  the  little  table  and  squeezed 
his  big  brown  hand  impulsively.  "You're  the  most 
wonderful  man  I  ever  knew.  And  does  my  poor 
brother  know  I  am  living,  Mr.  Webster?" 

"No — and  I'm  not  going  to  tell  him.  I  think  it 
will  be  much  nicer  to  restore  you  to  each  other  on  the 
steps  of  the  government  palace  on  the  day  when  the 
Ruey  faction  comes  into  its  own  again.  That  will 
make  his  victory  all  the  sweeter.  I  am  the  innocent 
bystander  who  started  this  little  drama,  and  by  jingo, 
I  want  to  finish  it.  Why,  it  has  been  years  and  years 
since  I've  had  any  real  sport." 

"You're  so  kind!" 

"Not  at  all.  My  discovery  of  "your  brother  was 
as  accidental  as  falling  downstairs."  And  he 
related  to  her  his  interview  with  Ricardo,  whose 
statements,  when  compared  with  the  information 
gleaned  from  Mother  Jenks,  had  proved  so  illumin 
ating.  "By  the  way,"  he  continued,  "where  was 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  237 

Ricardo  when  your  father's  ship  of  state  went  on  the 
rocks?" 

"At  school  in  a  military  academy  in  Kentucky. 
At  least,  so  I  was  informed  by  my  cousins  here  shortly 
after  my  arrival,  and  prior  to  losing  caste  with  them 
because  of  my  association,  unchaperoned,  with 
Billy." 

"It  is  a  marvellous  mix-up,  which  Ricardo  can 
doubtless  explain,  Miss  Ruey.  I  know  he  believes 
his  sister  perished  with  her  father;  Mother  Jenks 
didn't  know  where  he  was  and  couldn't  communicate 
with  him — and  there  you  are.  However,  little  old 
Jack  Fix-it  will  bring  you  together  again  in  due 
course.  In  the  interim,  how  about  those  eggs? 
Straight  up — or  flip  'em?" 

She  beamed  across  at  him.  "We  are  going  to  be 
such  good,  true  friends,  aren't  we?"  she  urged.  He 
almost  shivered,  but  managed  a  hypocritical  nod. 
"While  we  have  only  known  each  other  twenty -four 
hours,  it  seems  a  great  deal  longer  than  that — prob 
ably  because  Billy  has  told  me  so  much  about  you, 
and  you're — so  comfortable  and  easy  to  get  ac 
quainted  with,  and  I — I  can't  very  well  express  my 
gratitude  for  what  you've  done — for  what  you're 
going  to  do."  Her  voice  faltered;  she  smiled  ro 
guishly  through  the  tears  of  her  emotion.  "If  I 
were  only  Billy,  now,  I  could  put  my  arm  across  your 
shoulders  and  settle  the  matter  by  saying:  'Johnny, 
you  old  horsethief,  you're  all  right.'" 

"The  best  thing  to  do  would  be  to  cease  puffing 
me  up  with  importance.  And  now,  before  we  climb 


238  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

out  of  the  realm  of  romance  and  the  improbable  to 
the  more  substantial  plane  of  things  for  breakfast, 
just  one  brief  word  of  caution.  Now  that  I  have 
told  you  your  brother  lives  and  is  in  Buenaventura, 
forget  it  until  I  mention  it  again,  because  his  presence 
here  is  his  secret,  not  ours." 

"All  right,  Caliph,"  she  agreed.  "I  think  I  shall 
call  you  that  hereafter.  Like  the  late  Caliph  Haroun 
Al  Raschid,  it  appears  you  have  a  habit  of  prowling 
around  o'  nights  in  queer  places,  doing  good  deeds  for 
your  subjects.  But  tell  me  about  my  brother. 
Describe  him  to  me." 

"Not  now.  Here  comes  the  head  waiter  with  a 
cablegram  for  me,  I  think." 

That  functionary  came  to  their  table  and  handed 
one  of  the  familiar  yellow  envelopes  to  each  of  them. 

"We'll  excuse  each  other,"  Dolores  suggested. 
She  read: 

Go  you  if  I  lose.  You  are  a  good,  game  little  scout,  and 
I  like  you  fine. 

JEROME. 

She  glanced  across  at  Webster,  whose  face  was  a 
conflicting  study  of  emotions  in  which  disappoint 
ment  and  amazement  appeared  to  predominate. 
"You  ancient  scoundrel,"  she  heard  him  murmur. 

"What  ho,  Caliph!  Unpleasant  news?"  she  ven 
tured. 

"Yes — and  no.  I  had  one  of  the  finest  jobs  in  the 
world  all  staked  out — and  now  the  boss  cables  me  it's 
filled — by  a  better  man." 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  239 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"Well — as  soon  as  I've  had  my  breakfast,  I'm 
going  to  cable  Neddy  Jerome  and  tell  him  I'm  satis 
fied — satisfied  to  stay  here  and  satisfied  he's  a  liar. 
You  see,  Miss  Ruey,  he  objected  vigorously  to  my 
coming  here  in  the  first  place — wanted  me  to  take  a 
thirty-day  vacation  and  then  manage  the  Colorado 
Consolidated  Mines  Company,  Limited,  for  him. 
I  like  Neddy  and  would  have  been  glad  to  go  to  work 
for  his  company,  but  of  course  Billy  comes  first,  and 
so  I  declined  the  offer.  Later  I  changed  my  mind, 
and  last  night  I  cabled  him  I'd  accept  if  he'd  wait 
sixty  days — possibly  ninety;  and  now  he  replies  that 
he's  sorry,  but  the  job  is  filled  by  a  better  man. 
That's  why  I  know  he's  a  liar." 

"I  see.  You  figure  there  isn't  a  better  mining 
engineer  than  you — eh,  Caliph?  " 

He  looked  at  her  reproachfully.  "No,  but  Neddy 
Jerome  does,  and  I  know  he  does  because  he  has 
taken  the  trouble  to  tell  me  so  more  than  once. 
And  as  a  rule  Neddy  inclines  toward  the  truth. 

However,  it's  just  as  well "  He  paused,  staring 

hard  at  her.  "  By  the  way,  you  foretold  this !  Why, 
this  is  amazing." 

She  could  now  have  wept  with  laughter.  "Well" 
— soberly — "I  told  you  some  other  things  equally 
amazing,  did  I  not?" 

"Yes,  you  told  me  other  things  more  or  less  inter 
esting,  but  you/oretold  this.  How  do  you  account 
for  that?" 

"The  witness  declines  to  answer,  on  the  ground 


240  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

that  she  may  incriminate  herself  and  be  burned  for  a 
witch. " 

"Remarkable  woman!" 

"You  were  about  to  remark  that  it  is  just  as 
well " 

"That  Neddy's  reconciled  to  losing  me,  because 
since  cabling  him  yesterday  evening  I've  changed 
my  mind  again.  I'm  going  to  stay  here  now." 

"Indeed!     Why?" 

"Just  to  be  obstinate.  Apparently  I'm  not  wanted 
here  by  the  powers  that  be;  so  just  to  rile  them  I'm 
going  to  hang  around  Sobrante  the  way  Grant  hung 
around  Richmond  and  argue  the  question  with  them. 
By  the  way,  I  see  you  received  a  cablegram  also. 
Better  news  than  mine,  I  hope." 

She  nodded.  "I  have  a  little  business  deal  on  back 
home.  Haven't  got  a  great  deal  invested,  but  it 
looks  as  if  I  might  make  ten  thousand  dollars." 

He  arched  his  eyebrows  and  favoured  her  with  a 
little  disapproving  grunt.  Sounded  like  the  pros 
pectus  of  a  fake  mining  promoter — yes,  by  thunder, 
that  was  it.  Dolores  was  a  school  teacher,  and  school 
teachers  and  doctors  are  ever  the  mainstay  of  a 
swindler's  sucker  list. 

"You  won  ten  dollars  from  me  yesterday,"  he 
challenged.  "Bet  you  another  ten  I  can  tell  you  the 
nature  of  your  investment." 

" Go  you,  if  I  lose! "  Unconsciously  she  was  learn 
ing  the  argot  of  the  male  of  the  species,  as  exemplified 
in  Neddy  Jerome's  cablegram. 

"It's  a  mining  property." 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  241 

"You  win.  It  is,"  she  answered  truthfully,  start 
ing  to  open  her  purse. 

"Quartz  or  placer?" 

"I  don't  know.  Explain." 

He  chuckled  at  her  ignorance.  "Quartz  is  gold- 
bearing  rock,  and  placer  is  gold-bearing  gravel." 

"Then  my  mining  property  is  placer,  because  it 
has  lots  of  sand." 

"I  knew  it,  I  knew  it,"  he  warned  her  solemnly, 
and  he  shook  an  admonitory  finger  at  her.  "Black 
sand,  eh?  Is  the  gold  very  fine?" 

"I  think  it  is." 

"Then  you're  stung  good  and  deep — so  don't 
delude  yourself  into  thinking  you  have  ten  thousand 
dollars  coming.  I  never  knew  a  proposition  for 
saving  the  fine  gold  in  black  sand  that  didn't  turn 
out  to  be  a  fizzle.  It's  the  hardest  thing  in  the  world 
to  save.  Now,  listen:  You  tell  me  the  name  of  the 
flim-flam  artist  that  got  you  into  this  deal,  and  when 
I  get  back  to  the  United  States  I'll  investigate  the 
company;  if  it's  an  out-and-out  swindle,  I'll  take 
that  promoter  by  the  throat  and  choke  your  money 
out  of  him,  the  scoundrel!  It  is  just  these  fly-by- 
night  fellows  that  ruin  the  finest  gambling  game  in 
the  world  and  scare  off  investors  in  legitimate  mining 
propositions." 

"Oh,  you  mustn't — really,  Caliph.  He's  an  old 
man,  and  I  only  did  it  to  help  him  out." 

"There  should  be  no  sentiment  in  business,  Miss 
Ruey." 

"Oh,  well,  let's  be  cheerful  and  hopeful,  Caliph, 


242  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

and  discuss  a  more  important  subject."  She  was 
very  serious  now,  for  by  her  meddling  she  had,  she 
realized,  so  arranged  matters  that  at  a  time  when 
John  Stuart  Webster's  very  life  depended  upon  his 
immediate  departure  from  Buenaventura,  he  was 
planning  to  stay  and  face  the  music,  just  to  be  obsti 
nate.  "You  must  reconsider  your  latest  decision 
to  remain  in  this  country,"  she  insisted.  "Your 
life  may  be  the  price  of  liberty  of  action,  you 
know." 

"'Give  me  liberty  or  give  me  death,'"  quoted 
Webster. 

"But  isn't  Billy  capable  of  developing  the  mine 
after  you  advance  the  cash?" 

"I  wouldn't  advance  him  a  cent  for  Irs  mine  until 
I  had  investigated  it  myself." 

"Then  you  should  make  some  arrangements  to 
safeguard  yourself  while  making  the  investigation, 
and  leave  Sobrante  immediately  thereafter.  Isn't 
that  a  sensible  proposition?" 

"Very — if  I  felt  like  leaving  Sobrante.  But  I  do 
not.  If  that  mining  concession  is  a  potential  winner, 
I'll  have  to  stick  around  and  make  a  winner  out  of  it 
before  I  go  away  and  leave  Bill  in  charge.  Besides, 
I'm  worried  about  Bill.  He's  full  of  malarial  fever, 
and  last  night  I  got  thinking  about  him  and  decided 
to  send  him  back  to  the  Colorado  mountains  for  a 
few  months.  This  country  is  going  to  be  in  the 
throes  of  a  revolution ;  the  chances  are  we  will  not  be 
able  to  do  much  with  our  property  until  the  war  is 
over,  and  I  will  be  able  to  do  that  little.  I  want 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  243 

some  regular  doctors  to  work  on  Bill  so  he'll  be  fit 
when  he  gets  back  on  the  job." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  this  idea  of  sending  Billy  to 
the  United  States  had  but  that  moment  occurred  to 
Jack  Webster;  he  reflected  now  that  this  plan  was 
little  short  of  an  inspiration.  It  would  give  Billy 
and  Dolores  an  opportunity  to  marry  and  have  a 
honeymoon;  it  would  leave  him  free  of  her  disturbing 
presence,  and  enable  him  to  leave  Sobrante  when  the 
Gearys  should  return.  He  resolved  to  speak  to  Billy 
about  it. 

Dolores's  voice  broke  in  upon  his  cunning  reflec 
tions.  "But  Billy  tells  me  you  already  have  a  for 
tune  sufficient  for  the  needs  of  a  caliph  without  a 
court.  Why  risk  your  precious  life  to  acquire  more? 
Money  isn't  everything  in  life." 

"No,  but  the  game  is." 

"What  game?     Mining?" 

"The  game  of  life." 

"But  this  is  the  game  of  death." 

"Which  makes  life  all  the  sweeter  if  I  can  beat  the 
game.  Perhaps  I  can  better  illustrate  my  point  of 
view  with  a  story.  Some  years  ago  I  was  sent  to 
Arizona  to  examine  a  mining  property  and  report 
upon  it;  if  I  advised  its  purchase,  my  principals  were 
prepared  to  buy  at  my  valuation.  Well,  when  I 
arrived,  I  found  a  miserable  shanty  close  to  a  shaft 
and  dump,  and  in  the  shanty  I  found  a  weather- 
beaten  couple.  The  woman  was  probably  forty  but 
looked  fifty.  The  man  had  never  been  anything 
but  a  hard-rock  miner — four  dollars  a  day  had  been 


244  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

the  limit  of  his  earnings  in  any  one  day  until  he 
stumbled  on  some  float,  traced  it  up,  and  located  the 
claims  I  was  there  to  examine  and  try  to  buy. 

"His  wife  had  been  a  miner's  daughter,  knowing 
nothing  but  drudgery  and  poverty  and  continuing 
that  existence  after  marriage.  For  twenty  years  she 
had  been  darning  her  husband's  socks,  washing  his 
clothes,  and  cooking  his  meals.  Even  after  they  un 
covered  the  ledge,  it  wasn't  worth  any  more  than 
the  country  rock  to  them  unless  they  could  sell  it, 
because  the  man  had  neither  the  money  nor  the 
ability  to  develop  it  himself.  He  even  lacked  the 
ability  to  sell  it,  because  it  requires  real  ability  to 
unload  any  kind  of  a  mine  for  a  million  dollars,  and 
real  nerve  on  the  part  of  the  man  who  buys.  I 
examined  the  mine,  decided  it  was  cheap  at  a  million 
dollars,  and  so  reported  to  my  principals.  They  wired 
me  to  close,  and  so  I  took  a  sixty-day  option  in  order 
to  verify  the  title. 

"Well,  time  passed,  and  one  bright  day  I  rode  up 
to  that  shanty  with  a  deed  and  a  certified  check  for  a 
million  dollars  in  my  pocket;  whereupon  I  discovered 
the  woman  had  had  a  change  of  heart  and  bucked 
over  the  traces.  No,  siree!  She  would  not  sign 
thet  there  deed — and  inasmuch  as  the  claim  was 
community  property,  her  signature  was  vitally  neces 
sary.  She  asked  me  so  many  questions,  however,  as 
to  the  size  of  the  stamp  mill  we  would  install  and  how 
many  miners  would  be  employed  on  the  job,  that 
finally  I  saw  the  light  and  tried  a  shot  in  the  dark. 
"My  dear  Mrs.  Skaggs,"  I  said,  "if  you'll  sign  this 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  245 

deed  and  save  us  all  a  lot  of  litigation  over  this  option 
you  and  your  husband  have  given  me,  I'll  do  some 
thing  handsome.  I  will — on  my  word  of  honour — I'll 
give  you  the  exclusive  boarding-house  privilege  at 
this  mine." 

"And  what  did  she  say,  Caliph?" 

"She  said:  'Give  me  the  pen,  Mr.  Webster,  and 
please  excuse  my  handwriting;  I'm  that  nervous  in 
business  matters." 

Dolores's  silvery  laughter  rippled  through  the  room. 
"But  I  don't  see  the  point,"  she  protested. 

"We  will  come  to  it  presently.  I  was  merely  ex 
plaining  one  person's  point  of  view.  You  would  not, 
of  course,  expect  me  to  have  the  same  point  of  view  as 
Mrs.  Skaggs,  of  Arizona." 

"Certainly  not." 

"All  right!  Listen  to  this!  In  1907,  at  the  height 
of  the  boom  times  in  Goldfield,  Nevada,  I  was  worth 
a  million  dollars.  On  the  first  day  of  October  I  could 
have  cashed  in  my  mining  stocks  for  a  million — and 
I  had  a  lot  of  cash  in  bank,  too.  But  I'd  always 
worked  so  hard  and  been  poor  so  long  that  my  wealth 
didn't  mean  anything  to  me.  I  wanted  the  exclusive 
privilege  of  more  slavery,  and  so  I  staked  a  copper 
prospect,  which  later  I  discovered  to  consist  of  un 
counted  acres  of  country  rock  and  about  twenty-five 
dollars'  worth  of  copper  stain.  In  order  to  save  a 
hundred  dollars  I  did  my  own  assessment  work,  drove 
a  pick  into  my  foot,  developed  blood-poison,  went  to 
the  hospital,  and  was  nice  and  helpless  when  the  panic 
came  along  the  middle  of  the  month.  The  bank  went 


240  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

bust,  and  my  ready  cash  went  with  it;  I  couldn't 
give  my  mining  stocks  away.  Everybody  knew  I 
was  a  pauper — everybody  but  the  doctor.  He  per 
sisted  in  regarding  me  as  a  millionaire  and  sent  me  a 
bill  for  five  thousand  dollars." 

"How  perfectly  outrageous!  Why,  Caliph,  I 
would  have  let  him  sue  me." 

"I  would  have,  too — but  I  didn't.  I  induced  him 
to  settle  for  one  hundred  thousand  shares  of  stock  in 
my  copper  prospect.  The  par  value  was  a  dollar  a 
share,  and  I  was  going  to  sell  a  block  at  ten  cents, 
but  in  view  of  his  high  professional  standing  I  let 
him  have  it  for  a  nickel  a  share.  I  imagine  he  still 
has  it.  I  bought  back  later  all  the  other  stock  I 
sold,  because  the  property  was  worthless,  and  in 
order  to  be  a  sport  I  offered  him  five  hundred  dollars 
for  his  block,  but  he  thought  I  was  trying  to  swindle 
him  and  asked  five  thousand." 

"Oh,  Caliph!" 

"Wonderful  game,  isn't  it — this  game  of  life. 
So  sweet  when  a  fellow's  taking  chances!  Now  that 
I  am  fairly  prosperous  again,  the  only  thing  in  life 
that  really  matters  is  the  uncertainty  as  to  whether, 
when  finally  I  do  leave  Sobrante,  I  shall  ride  to  the 
steamship  landing  in  a  hack  or  a  hearse." 

"But  you  could  go  in  a  hack  this  morning  and 
avoid  that  uncertainty." 

"The  millionaire  drudge  I  told  you  of  could  have 
gone  to  live  in  a  pretty  villa  on  the  Riviera,  but  she 
chose  a  miner's  boarding-house." 

"Then  why,"  she  persisted,  "did  you  leave  the 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  S47 

United  States  with  the  firm  intention  of  remaining 
in  Sobrante  indefinitely,  change  your  mind  before 
you  were  here  eight  hours,  and  cable  this  Neddy 
Jerome  person  you  would  return  in  sixty  or  ninety 
days — and  the  following  morning  decide  to  remain, 
after  all!" 

"My  dear  young  lady,  if  I  changed  my  clothes  as 
often  as  I  change  my  mind,  the  what-you-may-call- 
9 em  chaps  that  manufacture  Society  Brand  clothes 
couldn't  keep  me  dressed." 

"But  why?" 

"That,"  he  answered  gravely,  "is  a  secret." 

"Women  delight  to  pry  into  men's  secrets." 

"I  know  it.  Had  a  friend  once — married.  Every 
night  after  dinner  he  used  to  sit  and  stare  into  the 
fire  and  his  wife  used  to  ask  him  what  he  was  thinking 
about.  He  would  look  up  at  her  owlishly  and  tell 
her  it  was  something  he  couldn't  explain  to  her, 
because  she'd  never  understand  it — and  that  was  all 
he  would  tell  her,  although  right  frequently,  I  dare 
say,  he  felt  like  telling  her  something  she  could  under 
stand  !  She  brooded  over  his  secret  until  she  couldn't 
stand  it  any  more,  and  one  day  she  packed  her  duds 
and  flew  home  to  mother.  He  let  her  stay  there  three 
months,  and  finally  one  day  he  sent  her  a  blueprint 
of  what  he'd  been  thinking  about." 

"What  was  it?" 

"An  internal-combustion  engine.  You  see,  until 
she  left  him,  he'd  never  been  able  to  get  set  to 
figure  out  something  in  connection  with  the  inlet 
valv 


248  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Stop  right  there,  Caliph.  I'm  rebuked.  I'll  let 
you  get  set  to  think 

"I  didn't  mean  that.  You  let  me  get  set  yesterday 
—and  I  figured  it  all  out  then — and  last  night — and  a 
minute  ago.  I  don't  care  to  do  any  more  thinking 
to-day.  Please  talk  to  me." 

"And  you  refuse  to  tell  me  why  you  cabled  your 
friend  Jerome?" 

"You  will  never  know.  I  told  you  it's  a  se 
cret." 

"Bet  you  I  find  out." 

"How  much?  That  ten  thousand  dollars  you 
expect  to  make  from  the  flour-gold  in  your  black- 
sand  claim?  And  by  the  way,  ten  dollars,  please. 
I  won  it  for  guessing  you  were  interested  in  a  mining 
proposition." 

She  returned  to  him  the  bill  she  had  won  from  him 
the  day  before.  "Ten  thousand  dollars  suits  me. 
Of  course  I  haven't  got  the  money  just  now,  and  this 
is  what  Billy  calls  a  finger-bet,  but  if  I  lose,  I  guaran 
tee  to  pay.  Are  we  betting  even  money?  I  think 
that  is  scarcely  fair.  Under  the  circumstances  I 
should  be  entitled  to  odds." 

"Nothing  doing!  No  odds  on  a  bet  of  this  nature 
to  a  seeress  who  has  already  jarred  me  from  soul  to 
vermiform  appendix  by  making  good!  You  know 
too  blamed  much  already,  and  how  you  discovered 
it  is  a  problem  that  may  drive  me  crazy  yet." 

After  breakfast  they  repaired  to  the  veranda  to 
await  the  result  of  Webster's  experiment  with  Don 
Juan  Cafetero.  Sure  enough,  the  wreck  had  again 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  249 

returned;  he  was  seated  on  the  edge  of  the  veranda 
waiting  for  them;  as  they  approached,  he  held  up  a 
grimy,  quivering  hand,  in  the  palm  of  which  lay— 
a  five-dollar  gold-piece. 

"What?"  Mr.  Webster  said,  amazed.  "Still  un 
changed!" 

"I  thried  to  change  it  at  half  a  dozen  cantinas," 
Don  Juan  wheezed,  "but  divil  a  bit  av  systim  did 
any  av  thim  have.  Wan  offered  this  in  spiggoty 
money  an'  the  other  offered  that,  an'  sure  if  I'd 
taken  the  best  that  was  offered  me  in  exchange,  ye 
might  have  t'ought  I'd  tuk  more  nor  wan  dhrink." 

"Bravo!  Three  long,  loud,  raucous  cheers  for 
Don  Juan  Cafetero!"  Dolores  cried.  "That's  just 
exactly  what  he  expected  you  to  do,  Don  Juan." 

"  Give  a  dog  a  bad  name,  an'  'twill  shtick  to  him," 
the  derelict  replied  resignedly. 

"Was  it  a  terrible  task  to  come  back  without  a 
drink,  Don  Juan?" 

He  shivered.  "A  shky-blue  kangaroo  wit'  a  pink 
tail  an'  green  ears  chased  me  into  this  patio,  ma'am." 

"You're  very  brave,  Cafferty.  How  does  it  feel 
to  win  back  your  self-respect?"  Webster  asked  him. 

"Beggin'  the  young  leddy's  pardon — it  feels  like 
hell,  sor." 

"  Caliph,  don't  be  cruel,"  Dolores  pleaded.  "  Call 
a  waiter  and  give  Don  Juan  what  you  promised 
him." 

So  Webster  went  into  the  hotel  bar  and  returned 
presently  with  a  bottle  of  brandy  and  a  glass,  which 
he  filled  and  held  out  toward  Don  Juan.  "One  of 


250  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

the  paradoxes  of  existence,  Don  Juan,"  he  observed, 
"lies  in  the  fact  that  so  many  of  the  things  in  life 
that  are  good  for  us  are  bad  for  us.  This  jolt  will 
disperse  the  menagerie  and  quiet  your  nerves,  but 
nevertheless  it  is  a  nail  in  your  coffin." 

Don  Juan  proved  himself  a  true  Hibernian  soldier 
of  misfortune  by  jesting  under  fire.  "Whilst  ye 
have  the  hammer  in  yer  hand,  sor,  dhrive  in  an 
other,"  he  pleaded.  Webster  declined,  however,  and 
returned  the  bottle  to  the  bar,  where  he  had  it  marked 
for  Don  Juan  and  set  aside,  for  it  was  his  opinion, 
evolved  from  a  vast  experience  with  hard-drinking 
miners,  that  the  only  cure  for  poor,  diseased  Don 
Juan  lay  in  a  judicious  application  of  hair  from  the 
dog  that  had  bitten  him. 

"And  this  is  another  reason  why  I  must  stay  here 
longer  than  I  intended,"  he  said  softly  to  Dolores, 
indicating  Don  Juan  with  his  thumb.  "He's  just 
about  ready  to  be  poured  back  into  the  bottle,  and 
I'm  going  to  see  if  I  cannot  restore  him  to  his  original 
solid  state.  Experiments  in  chemistry  always  did 
fascinate  me." 

He  bade  her  adieu,  and  accompanied  by  his  pro 
tege,  strolled  uptown  on  a  shopping  tour.  Here  he 
outfitted  Don  Juan  neatly  but  not  gaudily  and  added 
to  his  own  personal  effects  two  high-power  sporting 
rifles,  three  large-calibre  automatic  pistols,  and  a 
plentiful  supply  of  ammunition — after  which  he  re 
turned  to  the  hotel,  first  having  conducted  Don  Juan 
to  a  barber  shop  and  given  him  instructions  to  report 
for  orders  and  his  midday  drink  the  instant  he  should 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

have  acquired  the  outward  evidences  of  respecta 
bility. 

At  the  hotel  Webster  found  two  messages  awaiting 
him.  One  was  from  Billy  Geary,  up  at  San  Miguel 
de  Padua,  advising  him  that  everything  was  in  readi 
ness  for  a  trip  to  the  mine;  the  other  was  a  note  from 
Ricardo  Ruey,  but  signed  with  his  alias  of  Andrew 
Bowers.  Webster  read: 
MY  DEAR  FRIEND  : 

Permit  me  to  congratulate  you  on  your  marksmanship 
last  night  and  to  commend  your  forbearance  in  winging  a 
gent  where  killing  was  not  only  justified  but  to  be  en 
couraged.  You  have,  so  I  am  authoritatively  informed, 
completely  buffaloed  your  two  gentlemen.  They  cannot, 
in  our  own  classical  English,  "quite  make  you." 

However,  this  letter  is  not  all  gossip.  A  certain  higher- 
up  has  at  length  been  convinced  that  it  would  be  extremely 
inadvisable  to  eliminate  you  now.  It  has  been  pointed 
out  to  this  person  that  you  are  a  prom.  cit.  up  in  your 
neck  of  the  woods  and  dangerous  to  monkey  with — person 
ally  and  because  such  monkeying  may  lead  to  unpleasant 
complications  with  your  paternal  government.  A  far 
more  artistic  and  effective  way  of  raising  hell  with  you  has 
been  suggested  to  this  higher-up  individual,  and  he  has 
accepted  it.  Indeed,  the  plan  pleased  him  so  much  that 
he  laughed  quite  heartily.  Really,  it  is  quite  diabolical, 
but  remember,  he  who  laughs  last  laughs  best — and  I'm 
the  villain  in  this  sketch. 

Barring  accidents,  my  dear  Webster,  you  are  good  for  at 
least  six  weeks  of  existence.  Beyond  that  I  dare  not 
guarantee  you. 

Thine, 
ANDREW  BOWERS. 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"That  makes  it  nice,"  the  recipient  of  this  com 
forting  communication  soliloquized.  He  went  up 
to  his  room,  packed  a  duffle-bag  with  such  belongings 
as  he  would  find  necessary  during  a  prolonged  stay  in 
the  mountains,  and  at  luncheon  was  fortunate  enough 
to  find  Dolores  in  the  dining  room  when  he  entered. 
Again  she  motioned  him  to  the  vacant  chair  opposite 
to  her. 

"I'm  going  up  to  San  Miguel  de  Padua  this  after 
noon,"  he  announced  as  he  took  his  seat.  A  look  of 
extreme  anxiety  clouded  her  lovely  face,  and  he 
noticed  it.  "Oh,  there's  no  risk,"  he  hastened  to 
assure  her.  "That  scamp  of  a  brother  of  yours, 
through  his  friends  in  high  places,  has  managed  to 
get  me  a  reprieve."  He  handed  her  Ricardo's  letter. 

She  looked  up,  much  relieved,  from  her  perusal. 
"And  how  long  do  you  expect  to  be  gone,  Caliph?" 

"Quite  a  while.  I'll  be  busy  around  that  dratted 
concession  for  a  couple  of  weeks,  surveying  and  assay 
ing  and  what-all;  then,  while  waiting  for  our  ma 
chinery  and  supplies  to  arrive  from  the  United  States, 
I  shall  devote  my  spare  time  to  hunting  and  fishing 
and  reforming  Don  Juan  Cafetero.  The  cool  hills 
for  mine." 

"What  a  selfish,  unsociable  programme!"  she  re 
flected.  "I  wonder  if  it  will  occur  to  him  to  come 
down  here  once  in  a  while  and  take  me  for  a  drive  on 
the  Malecon  and  talk  to  me  to  keep  me  from  dying 
of  ennui  before  I  meet  Ricardo.  I'll  wait  and  see  if 
he  suggests  it." 

However,  for  reasons  best  known  to  himself  and 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  253 

the  reader,  Mr.  Webster  made  no  such  interesting 
suggestion;  so  she  decided  that  while  he  was  tre 
mendously  nice,  he  was,  nevertheless,  a  very  queer 
man  and  thoroughly  exasperating. 

Before  leaving  that  day  Webster  turned  over  to 
her  a  steamer-trunk  filled  with  books,  and  with 
something  of  the  feeling  of  a  burglar  about  to  rob  a 
bank,  asked  her  if  she  would  care  to  ride  down  to 
the  station  with  him.  "  Sort  of  speeding  the  parting 
guest,  you  know,"  he  explained  comfortably,  for 
somehow,  at  that  moment,  he  felt  a  trifle  untrue  to 
Billy  Geary.  Of  course,  Dolores,  having  nothing 
more  pleasurable  or  exciting  to  do,  would — and  did. 
At  the  station  they  found  Don  Juan  waiting  in  charge 
of  the  baggage. 

Just  before  the  train  pulled  out  John  Stuart  WTeb- 
ster  took  Dolores's  hand.  "Good-bye,  Seeress,"  he 
said  very  soberly.  "The  trail  forks  here  for  the  first 
time — possibly  the  last,  although  I'll  try  to  be  on 
hand  to  make  good  on  my  promise  to  present  you  to 
your  brother  the  day  he  occupies  the  palace.  How 
ever,  if  I  shouldn't  be  in  town  that  day,  just  go  up  and 
introduce  yourself  to  him.  It's  been  wonderful  to 
have  met  you  and  known  you,  even  for  such  a  brief 
period.  I  shall  never  forget  you  and  the  remark 
able  twenty-four  hours  just  passed." 

"I  shall  not  soon  forget  them  myself,  Caliph — nor 
you,"  she  added.  "Haven't  you  been  a  busy  little 
cup  of  tea,  Caliph!  Within  twenty-four  hours  after 
landing,  you  have  changed  your  mind  three  times, 
lost  the  best  job  in  the  world,  had  your  fortune  told, 


254  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

been  marked  for  slaughter,  acquired  a  new-found 
friend  and  commenced  actively  and  with  extraor 
dinarily  good  results  the  work  of  reforming  him, 
soused  a  gentleman  in  the  fountain,  spurned  another 
with  the  tip  of  your  boot,  rode  with  me  around  the 
Malecon  and  listened  to  the  band  concert,  bundled 
poor  Billy  off  to  San  Miguel  de  Padua,  received  a 
challenge  to  fight  a  duel,  accepted  it,  had  it  rejected, 
engaged  in  a  street  fight  and  shot  a  man  through 
the  hand,  discovered  my  brother  presumed  to  be 
dead,  and  received  a  reprieve  from  your  enemies, 
while  they  perfect  new  plans  for  destroying  you. 
Really,  you  are  quite  a  caliph." 

"Oh,  there's  a  dash  of  speed  in  the  old  horse  yet, 
Miss  Ruey,"  he  assured  her  laughingly.  "Now  lis 
ten:  don't  tell  anybody  about  your  brother,  and  don't 
tell  Billy  about  my  adventures  since  he  left  for  San 
Miguel  de  Padua." 

"But  I'm  not  liable  to  see  Billy " 

"Yes,  you  are — extremely  liable.  I'm  going  to 
send  him  back  to  you  as  soon  as  I  can  spare  him,  be 
cause  I  know  you'll  be  lonesome  and  bored  to  death 
in  this  lonesome  town,  and  Bill  is  bully  good  com 
pany.  And  I  don't  want  you  to  tell  him  about  the 
mess  I'm  in,  because  it  would  only  worry  him;  he 
can't  aid  me,  and  the  knowledge  that  I  was  in  any 
danger,  real  or  fancied,  would  be  sufficient  to  cause 
him  to  rebel  against  my  plans  for  his  honeym — for 
his  vacation.  He'd  insist  on  sticking  around  to 
protect  me."  He  looked  d,own  at  her  little  hand 
where  it  rested  in  his,  so  big  and  brown  and  hard; 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  255 

with  his  free  hand  be  patted  her  hand  paternally. 
"Good-bye,  Seeress,"  he  said  again;  and  turning  to 
the  steps,  he  leaped  aboard  just  as  the  train  started 
to  move  out  of  the  station. 

"Go — good-bye — Caliph,"  she  called  mournfully. 
Then  to  herself:  "  Bless  his  heart,  he  did  remember  I'd 
be  terribly  lonely,  after  all.  He  isn't  a  bit  queer,  but 
oh,  dear,  he  is  so  exasperating.  I  could  bump  his  kind 
old  head  against  a  wall ! ' '  She  turned  her  back  on  the 
train,  fearful  that  from  where  he  clung  on  the  steps 
he  could,  even  at  that  distance,  see  the  sudden  rush 
of  tears  that  blinded  her.  However,  Don  Juan  Cafe- 
tero,  with  his  rubicund  nose  to  the  window  of  the 
last  coach,  did  see  them — saw  her  grope  toward  the 
carriage  waiting  to  take  her  back  to  the  hotel. 

"Why,  shure,  the  poor  darlint's  cryin',"  he  re 
flected.  "Be  the  Great  Gun  an  Athlone!  Shure  I 
t'ought  all  along  'twas  Billy  Geary  she  had  her  eye 
on — God  love  him!  An'  be  the  same  token,  didn't 
she  tell  me  I  was  to  shtay  sober  an*  take  care  av 
Misther  Webster?  Hah-hah-a-a-a !  Well!  I'll  say 
nothin'  an'  I'll  be  neuthral,  but — but — but " 

From  which  it  may  be  inferred  that  romance  was 
not  yet  burned  out  of  Don  Juan's  Gaelic  soul.  He 
would  be  "neuthral,"  but — but — but — he  reserved 
the  right  to  butt  in ! 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

THROUGHOUT  the  slow,  tortuous  journey, 
while  the  train  crept  up  and  ever  upward  into 
the  hills,  Don  Juan  entertained  his  patron 
with  alternate  snatches  of  the  song  closest  to  his 
heart  (or  rather  his  stomach) — "The  Cruiskeen 
Lawn,"  which,  liberally  translated  for  the  benefit 
of  those  not  familiar  with  the  Gaelic,  means  "the 
morning's  morning."  Between  verses  the  outcast 
suggested  the  advisability  of  a  drink  to  ward  off  ap 
proaching  faintness  or  discoursed  most  learnedly  on 
the  roadbed,  which  was  a  tribute  to  his  efficiency  as 
a  section-boss  in  his  other  incarnation. 

Arrived  at  San  Miguel  de  Padua  about  midnight, 
Webster  found  the  climate  temperate,  in  fact,  de 
cidedly  cool.  Billy  was  waiting  for  them  and  was 
properly  amazed,  but  not  scandalized  when  Don 
Juan  Cafetero,  abusing  the  station  hands  in  a  horrible 
hodgepodge  of  English  and  Spanish,  superintended 
the  landing  of  the  baggage  on  the  platform. 

"I  had  to  bring  him  with  me,"  Webster  explained. 
"I'm  going  to  wean  him,  and  after  that  baby  quits 
crying  for  his  bottle,  believe  me,  Bill,  we'll  have  the 
prince  of  a  foreman  for  our  mine.  Quite  a  character, 
is  Don  Juan,  when  you  dig  down  into  him." 
^  "Dig  far  enough  into  that  ruin  and  you'll  find  fire- 

256 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  257 

crackers,"  Billy  admitted.  "However,  John,  I'm 
afraid  he  won't  exploo^.  The  powder's  damp.  How 
did  you  leave  Dolores?" 

"Fit  as  a  fiddle,  Bill." 

"How  does  she  stack  up  on  better  acquaintance, 
Johnny?" 

"She's  a  skookum  lass.  She  sent  her  love  and  I 
promised  to  send  you  back  to  her  P.  D.  Q.  So 
don't  bother  me  with  talk  about  her.  If  you  think 
you're  going  to  sit  by  my  bed  half  the  night  and  talk 
about  your  heart's  desire,  you've  another  guess  com 
ing.  You'll  see  her  again  in  a  week  or  ten  days,  I 
hope." 

"No?  Is  that  so,  Johnny?  Bully  for  you,  you 
old  wampus  cat.  Tell  Don  Juan  to  steer  you  over  to 
the  Globo  de  Oro.  He  knows  the  place.  I've  got 
to  go  and  hire  a  mule  or  some  other  quadruped  for, 
Don  Juan  if  we're  to  avoid  a  late  start  in  the  morn 
ing.  Good-night,  old  fellow." 

They  were  up  at  daybreak,  and  with  three  heavily 
laden  pack-mules  in  charge  of  two  semi-naked  mozos, 
while  the  cook  jogged  comfortably  along  on  his  big 
splay  feet  in  the  rear,  they  set  out  for  Billy's  con 
cession.  From  San  Miguel  de  Padua  they  turned 
west  on  a  splendid  highway  paved  with  limestone 
blocks  and  \Vinding  up  into  the  hills  on  an  easy 
gradient. 

"Government  built,  this,  I  dare  say,"  Webster 
suggested  as  they  trotted  along  side  by  side. 

Billy  nodded.  "It  is  the  only  evidence  I  have 
observed  of  an  inclination  on  the  part  of  President 


258  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Sarros  to  give  the  lowly  peon  a  run  for  his  taxes. 
This  highway  stretches  froiL.  San  Miguel  de  Padua 
to  the  western  national  boundary;  I  imagine  Sarros 
built  it  with  some  idea  of  enabling  him  to  get  there 
first  with  the  most  guns  in  the  event  of  war  with  his 
neighbours  on  the  Pacific  side.  Quite  a  rare  plucked 
'un,  is  Sarros — to  quote  Mother  Jenks." 

"Are  [you  acquainted  with]  him,  Bill?  What  kind 
of  a  bird  is  he?" 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed,  I  know  him.  We're  great 
amigos.  I'm  the  man  that  taught  him  the  folly  of 
betting  too  heavily  on  two  pair  after  the  draw.  He 
has  Indian  blood  in  him — quite  a  little  of  it,  in  fact; 
but  he  is  well  educated.  Speaks  French,  Spanish, 
and  English  very  fluently.  He's  a  short  man  and 
wears  high-heeled  boots  to  make  himself  look  taller 
than  he  really  is.  He  is  crafty,  suspicious,  sensitive, 
and  possessed  of  a  sense  of  humour — only  his  humour 
is  tinged  with  cruelty.  He'd  steal  a  cross  off  a  grave 
and  kill  his  best  friend  as  quickly,  should  political 
expediency  demand  it,  ab  you  or  I  would  kill  a  rattle 
snake.  He  has  a  rattling  good  intelligence-depart 
ment,  pays  liberally  for  information,  and  keeps  down 
rebellion  by  the  simple  process  of  locating  the  ring 
leaders  and  shooting  them.  He  bumped  off  old 
General  Morelos  some  six  weeks  ago — did  it  on  mere 
suspicion,  too." 

"You  must  have  come  to  Sobrante  mighty  well 
recommended  to  get  into  the  good  graces  of  the 
scoundrel." 

"Not  at  all !     Sarros  is  a  peculiar  man.     It  pleases 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  259 

him  to  pose  as  a  democrat  and  mingle  freely  with  the 
proletariat — accompanied,  however,  by  a  strong 
bodyguard.  Frequently  he  visits  the  cafes  in  Buena 
ventura  and  fraternizes  with  all  and  sundry.  I  met 
him  first  in  a  joint  known  as  The  Frenchman's,  where 
he  used  to  come  to  watch  the  drawing  for  the  lottery. 
I  was  there  matching  another  American  for  half- 
dollars,  and  Sarros  edged  up,  all  interest,  and  horned 
in  on  the  game.  Before  the  session  was  over  we'd 
swapped  cards,  and  the  instant  he  learned  I  was  a 
mining  man  and  down  here  to  give  Sobrante  the  once 
over,  he  invited  me  up  to  the  palace  for  dinner. 
Our  acquaintance  quickly  ripened  into  friendship — 
on  his  part.  It  seems  he  likes  to  have  enterprising 
Americans  come  to  Sobrante  and  exploit  the  coun 
try,  because  experience  has  demonstrated  that  if  the 
visitors  develop  a  good  thing,  there  is  always  a  rake- 
off  in  it  for  Sarros." 

Webster  nodded.  "Same  old  game  anywhere  you 
go  south  of  the  Rio  Grande,"  he  replied. 

"I  had  a  couple  of  thousand  dollars  I'd  saved  on  a 
job  I  had  down  in  Rhodesia,  so  I  was  enabled  to  put 
up  a  big  front.  I  received  government  permission 
to  prospect  government  lands,  and " 

"Do  you  pay  a  royalty  to  the  government,  Bill?" 

"Five  per  cent." 

"How  about  the  president's  rake-off?" 

"Oh,  that's  unofficial,  of  course,  but  it's  understood 
we  pay  him  5  per  cent,  of  our  output." 

"Anybody  else  to  take  care  of?" 

"No,  that  cleans  up  the  gang.     Loaiza,  the  Minis- 


'260  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

ter  of  the  Interior,  wanted  in,  but  I  kicked  like  a  bay 
steer  and  Sarros  shooed  him  off." 

"A  fine  lot  of  bandits  to  do  business  with!"  Web 
ster  declared  disgustedly.  "Still,  it's  their  way  of 
doing  business,  and  much  as  we  dislike  that  kind  of 
business,  we'll  have  to  do  it  that  way  or  not  at  all.  The 
government  ought  to  get  10  per  cent,  of  our  gross 
output,  and  Sarros  ought  to  be  shot.  However,  I 
dare  say  we  can  stand  for  the  blackmail  if,  as  you  say, 
you  have  twelve-dollar  ore." 

"Wait  and  assay  it  yourself,"  Billy  assured  him. 

For  thirty  miles  they  followed  the  government 
highway,  and  then  debouched  to  the  southwest  along 
a  neglected  road  just  wide  enough  to  accommodate 
the  clumsy  oxcarts  of  the  peons.  The  country  was 
sparsely  settled  and  evidently  given  over  to  stock- 
raising.  By  degrees  the  road  lost  itself  in  the  tall, 
dry  grass,  and  became  a  faint  trail  which  led  into  a 
forest  of  fir  and  other  woods,  with  a  good  deal  of 
mahogany  and  with  very  little  underbrush.  Billy 
rode  in  front,  following  through  the  timber  a  trail 
of  his  own  blazing;  and  on  the  afternoon  of  the  third 
day  they  dropped  swiftly  into  a  bare  brown  valley 
lying  between  timbered  hills,  displaying  here  and 
there  the  red  stain  of  oxide  of  iron,  from  which  evi 
dence  Webster  knew  he  was  in  a  mineral  country. 
Billy  pointed  to  a  yellow  mound  at  the  base  of  one  of 
the  toes  of  the  range  flanking  the  valley  on  the  south. 

"There's  the  claim,"  he  announced.  "You  can 
see  the  dump  from  here." 

A  ribbon  of  green  ran  down  a  canon  from  the  south 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  261 

^  out  into  the  brown,  parched  valley,  where  it 

suddenly  disappeared. 

"Sink,"  Billy  elucidated,  folio  whig  the  direction 
of  his  friend's  gaze  and  divining  his  thoughts.  "  That 
creek  lies  entirely  on  our  concession — about  thirty 
miner's  inches  of  water,  I  should  judge.  It  disap 
pears  in  the  sands  out  there  at  the  end  of  the  green 
streak,  but  the  irrigation  along  its  banks  has  been 
sufficient  to  insure  plenty  of  good  feed  for  our  stock." 

Darkness  had  descended  on  the  valley  by  the  time 
they  had  pitched  camp  and  eaten  supper.  They 
were  up  at  dawn  the  following  morning,  however, 
and  immediately  after  breakfast  Jack  Webster  went 
to  his  duffle-bag  and  brought  forth  a  dozen  little  can 
vas  sacks  and  a  prospector's  hammer.  "Now  then, 
William,  my  son,"  he  announced,  "light  the  lantern 
and  we'll  see  if  you've  forgotten  all  I  taught  you  about 
mining." 

They  clambered  up  the  dump  to  a  point  where  two 
light  steel  rails  projected  over  the  edge.  On  top  of 
the  dump,  lying  beside  the  rails,  were  two  small, 
rusty,  steel  ore  cars;  the  rails  led  from  the  edge  of  the 
dump  to  the  mouth  of  a  tunnel  in  the  hillside  and 
disappeared  therein. 

Webster  stood  a  moment,  looking  round  him. 
"How  did  you  happen  to  locate  this  ledge?"  he  de 
manded.  "Was  it  grass-root  stuff,  with  an  out 
cropping  here  at  the  foot  of  the  hill?  No,  of  course  it 
wasn't.  You  haven't  enough  ore  on  the  dump. 
What  the  devil  were  you  driving  at?" 

"Only  a  small  portion  of  that  dump  is  mine,  Jack, 


262  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

and  I  didn't  locate  the  ground  originally.  I  came 
into  this  valley  from  the  south,  and  as  I  worked  up 
the  range,  I  found  a  bald  spot  close  to  the  top  of  the 
hill,  and  a  gallows-frame  over  an  abandoned  shaft. 
Naturally,  I  went  down  the  shaft  to  see  why  it  had 
been  abandoned.  To  my  surprise,  I  found  a  twelve- 
foot  vein  of  free-milling  ore,  on  a  contact  between 
andesite  and  Silurian  limestone.  The  ledge  stood 
straight  up  and  down,  which  seemed  to  argue  great 
depth." 

"Somebody  had  found  an  outcropping  on  top  of 
that  hill,"  Webster  declared  with  conviction,  "and 
sunk  a  shaft  on  the  vein  to  open  it  up  and  determine 
its  width  and  direction.  How  deep  was  this  old 
shaft?  Thirty  or  forty  feet? " 

"Thirty-two  feet.  I  figured  it  out  just  that  way, 
too.  After  determining  approximately  which  way 
the  ledge  was  pitching,  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  have 
a  tunnel  driven  to  cut  the  ledge  at  right  angles  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  since  no  practical  man  would 
mine  from  the  top  of  a  hill  and  hoist  his  ore  through 
a  shaft,  when  he  could  mine  from  the  bottom  and 
haul  his  ore  out  on  cars  through  a  tunnel.  So  I  came 
prowling  down  into  the  valley  and  found  this  tunneL 
The  work  had  been  abandoned  for  a  couple  of  years, 
and  after  examining  the  tunnel  I  thought  I  knew 
why.  They  had  failed  to  cut  the  ledge  as  they  ex 
pected." 

"Hum-m!    And  what  did  you  do,  Bill? " 

"I  got  my  transit  and  ran  a  line  from  the  shaft  on 
the  hill,  following  the  direction  in  which  the  ledge 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  263 

was  running,  and  marked  out  the  exact  point  toward 
the  base  0f  the  hill  where  I  would  start  my  tunnel  to 
cut  the  ledge.  To  my  surprise,  I  discovered  my 
predecessor  had  selected  that  identical  spot.  So  I 
verified  my  calculations  and  then  sat  down  to  think 
it  over." 

1  "You  should  have  suspected  a  fault  immediately." 
Webster  chided  the  younger  man.  "This  is  a  vol 
canic  country " 

"Well,"  Billy  interrupted,  "I  suspected  a  fault, 
but  not  immediately.  Remember  Fm  fifteen  years 
your  junior,  professor.  I  remembered  that  frequent 
and  violent  earthquakes  occur  in  this  country,  and 
it  seemed  to  me  a  reasonable  hypothesis  to  blame 
some  ancient  and  particularly  violent  seismic  dis 
turbance,  which  had  faulted  the  vein  and  set  it  over  a 
considerable  distance.  According  to  my  calculation, 
that  other  man  should  have  cut  the  vein  at  eighty- 
three  feet — yet  he  had  gone  on  one  hundred  and  two 
before  quitting.  So  I  got  half  a  dozen  peons  and 
drove  ahead  nineteen  feet  on  the  other  fellow's 
tunnel;  and  by  Heck,  Johnny,  I  cut  the  vein!" 

"Bully  boy!     And  then?" 

"I  drifted  ten  feet  on  the  vein,  and  the  ore  sud 
denly  gave  out.  It  stopped  just  like  that,  proving 
I'd  come  to  the  upper  end  of  the  vein  where  it  had 
faulted;  so  I  just  worked  up  and  around,  stopeing 
and  sinking  a  winze  here  and  there,  until  just  about 
the  time  my  cash  reserve  was  getting  pretty  low  I 
picked  up  the  true  vein  and  opened  it  up  for  the  full 
width.  Come  in,  and  I'll  show  you." 


264  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

They  entered  the  tunnel,  to  the  signal  dismay  of 
dozens  of  large  bats.  When  they  reached  the  vein, 
Webster  broke  off  samples  of  the  ore  every  three  or 
four  feet,  crawled  after  Billy  up  through  the  stope 
and  back  to  the  true  vein,  from  the  face  of  which  he 
also  took  numerous  samples;  then  he  crawled  out 
into  the  sunshine  again,  hot,  dirty,  and  perspiring. 

"Billy,  you'll  be  a  real  miner  yet;  see  if  you 
won't,"  was  all  the  praise  he  tendered  his  youthful 
partner,  standing  beside  him  in  anticipation  of  a 
compliment,  as  Webster  got  out  his  portable  assay 
outfit. 

For  three  days  Webster  worked,  determining  the 
values  of  each  sample,  only  to  find  that  his  assays 
confirmed  Billy's.  Then  he  visited  the  old  shaft  on 
top  of  the  hill,  assayed  samples  procured  there, 
roamed  the  range  in  the  immediate  vicinity,  marking 
with  expert  eye  the  timber  he  would  find  so  useful 
and  close  at  hand  when  stulls  and  lagging  for  the 
tunnel  should  be  needed;  then  he  selected  a  site 
where  the  waters  of  the  stream  could  be  impounded 
in  a  little  draw  far  up  the  hillside,  and  returned  to 
camp  to  render  his  final  report. 

"You  were  right,  son,"  he  announced.  "This 
mine  is  a  humdinger  and  no  mistake;  if  you  and  I  live 
ten  years  we'll  be  worth  ten  millions  between  us — 
maybe  more." 

Billy's  jaundiced  eyes  glowed  hungrily.  "We'll 
put  in  a  hundred  stamps " 

"Well,  we'll  try  ten  for  a  starter,"  Webster  inter 
rupted  dryly,  "and  add  more  as  the  mine  pays  its 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  265 

way.  Our  first  consideration  is  the  building  of  about 
ten  miles  of  road  through  that  timber,  and  repairs  to 
that  old  dirt  road  connecting  with  the  Grand  High 
way.  I  noticed  there  isn't  much  hard  rock  work  to 
do,  however,  and  we'll  shoot  the  trees  out  of  our  way 
with  dynamite.  After  we  have  a  passable  trail 
broken  into  this  valley  it  won't  take  long  to  haul  in 
our  freight  from  the  railroad  at  San  Miguel  de  Padua. 
We'll  cut  all  our  frame-  and  foundation-timbers  for 
the  stamp-mill  right  here  on  the  ground,  and  our  other 
buildings  will  all  be  adobe.  We'll  have  to  put  in  a 
concrete  dam  up  there  on  the  hill  and  build  a  flume 
to  the  stamps.  Oh,  yes,  my  son,  we'll  run  the  stamps 
by  water  power.  We'll  have  a  five-hundred-foot 
drop  at  an  ample  angle,  with  the  last  hundred  feet 
almost  perpendicular;  believe  me,  when  the  water 
comes  through  the  penstock,  anything  in  front  will 
have  to  get  out  of  the  way.  The  same  power  will 
operate  a  little  electric-light  plant  to  light  the  grounds 
and  buildings  and  workings,  run  the  drills,  and  so  on. 
Yes,  it's  the  sweetest  mining  proposition  on  earth- 
only,  like  all  high-class  goods,  it  has  one  flaw  when 
you  examine  it  closely." 

"You're  crazy,"  Billy  challenged.  "Name  the 
flaw!" 

"Sarros!"  Webster  replied  smilingly.  "That 
scoundrel  makes  a  gamble  out  of  an  otherwise  sure 
thing.  However,"  he  added,  recalling  the  note  re 
ceived  from  Ricardo  Ruey  just  before  his  departure 
from  Buenaventura  and  reflecting  that  to  be  fore 
warned  is  to  be  forearmed,  "we'll  accept  the  gamble. 


266  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

That  rascal  can't  live  forever,  and  he  may  be  elimi 
nated  before  he  causes  us  any  trouble." 

"What  will  it  tost  us  to  get  this  mine  on  a  paying 
basis,  Johmyr*'» 

^Wellr/oack  home,  I'd  figure  on  spending  at  least 
&  hupfdred  thousand  dollars;  but  I  dare  say,  taking 
,  consideration  the  low  cost  of  labour  hi  Sobrante 
the  raw,  natural  resources  of  power  and  timber 
right  on  the  ground,  we  ought  to  put  this  deal  over 
for  fifty  thousand  at  the  outside.  Praise  be,  I  have 
cash  enough  to  do  the  trick  without  calling  in  any 
help,  and  such  being  the  case,  we'll  not  waste  any  time 
but  hojp  to  the  job  in  a  hurry  and  make  the  fur  fly." 

"All  right,  Jack.     What's  the  programme?" 

"Well,  first  off,  son,  I'm  not  going  to  stay  in  this 
country  and  lose  myself  managing  this  mine. 
That's  your  job,  because  you're  young  and  unimport 
ant  in  your  profession  and  have  the  ability  to  get 
away  with  the  job.  You  can  afford  to  spend  the 
next  fifteen  years  here,  but  I  cannot.  I  can  only 
afford  to  come  down  here  every  couple  of  years  and 
relieve  you  for  a  vacation." 

"That's  the  way  I  figured  it,  Jack." 

"All  right  then,  Bill,  let  us  start  in  by  giving  you 
your  first  vacation .  If  you're  going  to  dig  in  here  and 
make  the  fur  fly,  you've  got  to  be  in  tip-top  physical 
condition — and  you  are  thin  and  gaunted  and  full  of 
chills  and  fever.  Just  before  I  left  Buenaventura  I 
cashed  a  draft  for  five  thousand  dollars  on  my  letter 
of  credit  at  the  Banco  Nacional,  and  placed  it  to  the 
credit  of  your  account  there, 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  267 

"To-morrow  morning  you  will  take  your  horse, 
one  pack-mule,  and  one  mozo  and  ride  for  San  Miguel 
de  Padua,  where  you  will  take  the  train  for  Buena 
ventura.  In  Buenaventura  you  may  do  what  you 
blame  please,  but  if  I  were  you,  boy,  I'd  try  to  get 
married  and  go  back  to  the  U.  S.  A.  for  my  honey 
moon.  And  when  I  finally  hit  a  town  that  con 
tained  some  regular  doctors  I'd  let  them  paw  me  over 
and  rebabbit  me  and  overhaul  my  bearings  and  put 
me  in  such  nice  running  order  I'd  be  firing  on  all 
twelve  cylinders  at  once. 

"And  when  I  was  feeling  tip-top  once  more  I'd 
wire  old  John  Stuart  Webster  and  tell  him  so,  after 
which  I'd  stand  by  for  a  cable  from  the  said  sour 
dough  inviting  me  to  return  and  take  up  my  labours." 

Billy's  wan  yellow  face  lighted  up  like  a  sunrise  on 
the  desert.  "I  guess  that  plan's  kind  of  poor,"  he 
announced  feelingly.  "You're  right,  Jack.  I'm  in 
rotten  condition  and  I  ought  to  be  right  before  I 
start.  Still,  if  I  should  arrange  to  get  married  before 
I  leave,  I'd  like  mighty  well  to  have  a  good  man  and 
true  see  me  safely  over  the  hurdles." 

"That's  nice,  son,  but  I  haven't  time  to  be  your 
best  man.  Arranging  the  honeymoon  lets  me  out, 
Bill.  I'm  in  a  hurry  to  finish  here  and  get  back,  so 
the  sooner  we  both  start  our  prospective  jobs  the 
sooner  we'll  finish.  Have  a  quiet  little  marriage,  Bilf, 
without  any  fuss  or  feathers  or  voices  breathing  o'er 
Eden.  What  are  the  odds,  provided  you  get  hitched 
properly?  Besides,  I'm  in  mortal  dread  of  that  town 
,f  Buenaventura,  The  sewer  system  is  bad;  it's 


268  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

rotten  with  fever;  and  you'd  better  get  that  girl  out 
of  it  P.  D.  Q.,  and  the  quicker  the  better.  Myself, 
I  prefer  to  stay  up  here  in  these  mountains  in  a  tem 
perate  climate  where  there  are  no  mosquitoes." 

Billy  saw  that  Webster  was  serious  and  would  re 
sent  any  interference  in  his  plans.  "All  right,  Jack," 
he  assented.  "You're  the  boss." 

"Fine.  Now,  Bill,  you  listen  to  father  and  be 
guided  accordingly.  When  you  get  to  Buenaventura, 
wire  the  Bingham  Engineering  Company,  of  Denver, 
using  my  name,  and  tell  them  to  add  to  my  order 
given  them  last  month  and  held  for  shipping  direc 
tions,  twelve  dozen  picks,  twelve  dozen  shovels, 
twelve  dozen  mattocks,  say,  six  dozen  axes,  brush 
knives,  a  big  road  plow,  and  whatever  other  things 
you  happen  to  think  of  and  which  would  come  in 
handy  when  building  our  road.  Also,  when  you  get 
to  New  Orleans,  buy  a  ton  of  dynamite  and  an  ade 
quate  supply  of  fuse  and  fulminating  caps,  pay  for  it 
and  ship  it  to  me  at  Buenaventura.  Further,  look 
around  in  New  Orleans  and  buy  a  stanch  three  ton 
motor  truck.  We'll  need  it  for  getting  in  sup 
plies  from  San  Miguel  de  Padua.  Pay  for  the  truck 
also,  and  if  you  go  broke  and  cannot  reach  me  by 
I  cable,  wire  Neddy  Jerome  at  the  Engineers'  Club  in 
Denver  and  kick  his  eye  out  in  my  honoured  name. 

"I  guess  that's  about  all  of  your  job,  Bill.  As  for 
me,  I'll  camp  right  here.  I'll  have  a  deal  of  survey 
ing  to  do  and  I  plan  to  sweat  the  booze  out  of  that 
Cafferty  person.  I'll  make  Don  Juan  my  chain  man 
and  run  the  tail  off  him.  Then  I'll  be  busy  w  th 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

preliminary  plans,  arranging  for  labour  . v»xi, 

and  when  I'm  idle  I'll  go  hunting." 

In  conformity  with  this  plan,  therefore,  Billy 
said  good-bye  to  his  friend  and  packed  out  for  San 
Miguel  de  Padua  bright  and  early  next  morning. 
During  the  following  ten  days  Webster  managed  to 
keep  himself  fairly  busy  around  the  camp  at  the 
mine;  then  for  a  week  he  hunted  and  fished,  and 
finally,  when  that  began  to  pall  on  him,  his  agile  mind 
returned  to  business  and  the  consideration  of  the 
possibility  of  a  flaw  in  Billy's  title  to  the  claim;  where 
upon  he  suddenly  decided  to  return  to  Buenaventura 
and  investigate  that  title  fully  before  proceeding  to 
throw  dollars  right  and  left.  While  socially  he  was 
wildly  prodigal  with  his  dollars,  in  business  matters 
no  Scotchman  was  more  canny  or  more  careful  of  his 
baubees. 

At  the  head  of  his  little  cavalcade,  therefore,  he 
rode  out  one  morning  for  the  railroad,  whereat 
Providence,  in  its  inscrutable  wisdom,  ordained  that 
en  route  he  should  fall  in  with  no  less  a  personage 
than  Don  Ricardo  Luiz  Ruey,  ne  Andrew  Bowers. 
Ricardo  was  mounted,  armed,  and  alone,  and  at 
sight  of  Webster  he  shouted  with  delight  and  spurred 
toward  him. 

"What  the  devil!  You,  Rick,  the  g  ^ernment 
cut-up.  What  are  you  doing  in  these  parts?" 
Webster  rode  up  and  shook  hands. 

"Oh,  I'm  Robin  Hooding  it  around  this  part  of  the 
country.  It  is  so  secluded,  you  know,  and  Sarros 
hasn't  any  friends  or  any  telegraph  lines  or  any  gar- 


270  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

risons  up  this  way.  I  heard  in  San  Miguel  de  Padua 
that  you  were  camped  yonder,  and  I  was  on  my  way 
over  to  confer  with  you  on  matters  of  state." 

"You'll  have  to  confer  as  we  ride  along.     How 
does  your  business  progress,  Rick?" 

"Beyond  my  wildest  expectations.     By  the  way, 
I  need  your  help,  friend  Webster." 

"I'll  do  anything  within  reason,  Rick." 
"I  figured  you  would,  so  I  have  already  imposed 
on  your  good  nature  to  a  slight  extent.  Met  your 
friend  Geary  at  El  Buen  Amigo  a  couple  of  weeks 
ago,  just  before  he  sailed  for  the  United  States. 
He  was  telling  me  you  had  to  have  a  lot  of  tools  for 
road  building,  so  I  cabled  in  a  secret  cipher  to  the  So- 
brantean  revolutionary  junta  in  New  Orleans  to  ship 
these  tools  to  you  immediately.  They  arrived  on 
the  last  trip  of  the  Atlanta  and  now  repose  in  Leber's 
warehouse  waiting  for  you  to  call  and  remove  them." 
"You  scoundrel!  What  have  you  sent  me?" 
"A  couple  of  hundred  rifles  and  three  machine- 
guns,  branded  axes,  picks,  shovels,  plows,  and  so  on. 
I  also  ran  in  three  cases  of  ammunition,  labelled 
grindstones,  two  more  cases  disguised  as  bolts,  and 
quite  several  thousand  labelled  nails  in  kegs.  I 
should  feel  rather  sorry  for  you  if  my  friend  Sarros 
should  got  suspicious  and  investigate,  but  I  haven't 
any  fear  that  he  will.  You  see,  he  knows  you're 
here  on  legitimate  business.  He  has  investigated  and 
learned  that  you  are  a  bona  fide  mining  engineer  of 
considerable  reputation — and  then,  you  know,  your 
friend  Geary  dickered  with  him  for  the  concession. 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  271 

The  mining  property  you  are  about  to  develop  belongs 
to  the  people,  not  to  Sarros;  yet  he  has  bartered  it 
away  and  will  divert  the  royalty  to  his  own  pocket 
instead  of  the  public  treasury." 

"Hum-in-m!  What  do  you  want  me  to  do  with 
all  those  munitions  consigned  to  me?" 

"Arrange  with  Leber  to  keep  them  there  until  you 
get  ready  to  build  your  road  into  the  mine.  I  want 
them  there  when  my  American  mercenaries  arrive  in 
Buenaventura.  By  the  way,  you  are  going  to  import 
these  mercenaries  for  me.  They  are  American  min 
ers  and  road-builders  in  the  employ  of  the  Honda 
Mining  &  Development  Company,  which  is  to  be  the 
name  of  your  enterprise.  I  hope  you'll  like  the  name, 
Webster.  I  picked  it  out  myself." 

"You  cool  scoundrel!  You're  making  a  cat's  paw 
out  of  me." 

"That  is  because  you  happen  to  be  so  handy  for 
my  purpose.  You  see  my  plan,  do  you  not?  I'm 
going  to  attack  Buenaventura  from  within  and  with 
out.  I'm  going  to  come  down  on  Sarros  like  a  wolf  on 
the  fold,  and  the  job  is  scheduled  for  next  Saturday 
night  a  week." 

"Look  here,  Rick,  my  boy,  I  have  no  desire  to  mix 
in  the  politics  of  this  country." 

"You  have  some  desire,  however,  to  mix  in  its 
wealth,"  Ricardo  reminded  him. 

"Well?" 

"I'm  the  only  man  that  can  help  you.  By  the 
way,  do  not  order  your  machinery  shipped  until 
after  I  am  seated  firmly  on  the  throne  of  my  fathers." 


272  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Why?" 

"It's  been  framed  with  Sarros  to  let  you  spend  your 
money  on  that  concession  and  get  the  mine  in  run 
ning  order;  then  a  fake  suit,  alleging  an  error  in  the 
government  survey,  will  be  filed.  It  will  be  claimed 
that  the  concession  given  your  friend  Geary  is,  by 
virtue  of  erroneous  government  surveys,  the  prop 
erty  of  a  citizen  of  Sobrante.  The  courts  here  do  as 
Sarros  tells  them.  You  are  to  be  kicked  out,  busted, 
and  despairing,  and  your  nicely  equipped  little 
mine  will  be  taken  over  as  a  government  monopoly 
and  run  for  the  benefit  of  the  government,  to  wit, 
Sarros  and  his  satellites.  We  had  to  cook  up  a  dirty 
deal  like  that  to  save  your  life.  Of  course,  now  that  I 
have  warned  you  in  time,  you  are  safe.  We  schemed 
a  proposition,  however,  that  worked  both  ways.  It 
enabled  us  to  save  you  and  to  save  us,  by  permitting 
the  shipment,  free  of  suspicion,  of  arms  for  the  rebels 
that  are  to  attack  the  city  from  within.  Naturally 
I  had  to  cache  their  arms  within  the  city — and  that 
was  a  hard  problem  until  you  happened  along. 
Thank  you,  fairy  godfather." 

"My  thanks  are  due  you,  Ricardo.  I'm  for  you, 
first,  last,  and  all  the  time,  and  against  this  Sarros 
outfit.  By  the  way,  how  do  you  purpose  moving 
your  machine-guns?" 

"  We'll  have  to  carry  them,  I  guess." 

"Well,  I'll  have  a  small  auto-truck  delivered  in 
Buenaventura  by  that  time.  You  might  arrange  to 
armour  it  with  sheet  steel;  and  with  a  couple  of  ma 
chine-guns  mounted  in  it,  and  a  crew  of  resolute 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  273 

Americans  behind  the  machine-guns,  you  could  caper 
from  one  end  of  the  city  to  the  other  and  clear  a  path 
for  your  infantry/' 

"Thsnk  you,  my  friend.  I'll  borrow  the  motor 
truck  and  arrange  to  armour  it.  That's  a  bully 
idea.  Are  you  bound  for  Buenaventura  now?" 

Webster  nodded.  "Then,"  Ricardo  suggested, 
"I'll  meet  you  in  my  room  at  El  Buen  Amigo  next 
Wednesday  night  at  eleven  and  explain  the  details 
of  my  plans  to  you  if  you  care  to  hear  them.  I 
think  they're  air-tight  myself,  but  somehow  I  think 
I'd  feel  more  certain  of  them  if  you  approve  them." 

"I'll  be  there,  Rick,  and  the  day  you  run  that  out 
law  Sarros  off  the  grass  you'll  know  why  I  am  for 
you." 

"Good-bye,  old  man.  You  will  never  know  how 
grateful  you  have  made  me." 

Ruey  shook  hands  with  Webster  and  rode  off 
through  the  timber,  leaving  John  Stuart  Webster  to 
pursue  the  even  tenor  of  his  way,  until  at  length 
he  arrived  once  more  in  Buenaventura  and  sought 
accommodations  at  the  Hotel  Mateo.  And  there, 
as  he  entered  the  lobby  and  gazed  through  a  glass 
door  across  the  patio  and  into  the  veranda,  he  saw 
that  which  disturbed  him  greatly.  In  a  big  wicker 
rocker  Dolores  Ruey  sat,  rocking  gently  and  busily 
stitching  on  a  piece  of  fancy  work! 

Billy  Geary  gone  back  to  the  United  States,  and 
Dolores  was  still  in  Buenaventura!  Amazing!  Why, 
what  the  devil  did  Billy  mean  by  letting  her  have  her 
own  way  like  that?  Of  course  they  hadn't  been 


274  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

married,  or  she  would  not  now  be  out  there  on  the 
veranda,  and  of  course  they  hadn't  quarrelled,  because 
that  was  an  impossibility,  and  of  course  Billy  had 
departed  alone  for  the  U.  S.  A.,  else  he  would  have 
returned  to  their  camp  in  the  hills  back  of  San  Miguel 
de  Padua. 

"Well,  I  know  what  I'm  going  to  do,"  Webster 
decided.  "I'm  not  going  to  be  led  into  temptation 
while  Billy's  not  on  the  job — so  I'll  not  put  up  at  the 
Hotel  Mateo  after  all.  I'll  just  sneak  around  to 
El  Buen  Amigo  and  fix  it  with  that  old  Mother  Jenks 
not  to  tip  off  my  presence  in  town  to  Dolores  Ruey 
until  I  can  get  the  lay  of  the  land  and  see  what  the 
devil  has  happened  to  all  my  well-laid  plans." 

He  retreated  out  the  front  door  and  called  a  car 
riage,  into  which  he  was  about  to  step,  bag  and 
baggage,  when  Don  Juan  Cafetero  came  rushing  up 
in  great  excitement.  "Sure,  where  are  ye  goin'  now, 
sor.  Is  there  no  room  for  ye  in  the  Hotel  Mateo?" 

"Their  beds  have  jiggers  in  them,  and  I  just  re 
membered  that,"  Webster  fibbed.  "Hop  in,  John, 
and  we'll  drive  around  to  Mr.  Geary's  lodgings  in 
El  Buen  Amigo." 

"But  I  come  t'rough  the  patio  just  now,"  Don 
Juan  explained,  "an'  who  should  I  meet  but  the 
young  leddy." 

"  You  infernal  scoundrel !  Did  you  tell  her  I  was  in 
town?" 

" Sure  I  did,  sor.     An'  why  not?  " 

"None  of  your  infernal  business.  You've  spoiled 
everything.  You're  a  muddle-headed  monkey  and 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  275 

I've  a  great  notion  to  let  you  get  drunk  again.     Take 
the  baggage  back  into  the  hotel." 

Don  Juan  Cafetero,  greatly  humbled  and  rebuffed, 
stepped  aside  and  watched  Webster  stride  back  into 
the  hotel.  "  God  love  ye,  sor,"  he  mumbled,  "know- 
in'  what  I  know,  is  it  likely  I'd  let  ye  make  a  monkey 
out  av  her  or  yerself?  Ye  made  yer  plans  wit' 
Misther  Geary  wit'out  consultin'  her.  Now  go,  ye 
grrand  big  divil,  an'  find  out  why  she  kicked  yer 
schame  to  smithereens."  And  with  a  solemn  and 
knowing  wink  at  the  duffle-bag,  Don  Juan  picked 
that  article  up  and  followed  after  his  master. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

JOHN  STUART  WEBSTER'S  agile  brain  was  the 
repository  of  many  conflicting  emotions  as  he 
bathed,  shaved,  and  changed  from  his  soiled 
khaki  field  clothes  to  a  suit  of  ducks  before  present 
ing  himself  before  Dolores. 

Had  Billy's  courage  forsaken  him  at  the  last 
minute,  with  the  result  that  he  had  gone  back  to  the 
United  States  without  having  settled  the  question  of 
Dolores's  future?  Had  he  proposed  and  been  re 
jected,  or  had  he  proposed,  been  accepted,  and  had  his 
plans  for  an  immediate  marriage  vetoed  by  Dolores? 

In  either  event,  why  had  Billy  failed  to  leave  a  note 
for  him  at  the  Hotel  Mateo,  or  mailed  him  a  letter 
to  the  Globo  de  Oro  at  San  Miguel  de  Padua,  advising 
him  of  the  change  in  the  plan  of  action  outlined  for 
him  by  Webster? 

If  Dolores  had  accepted  him,  then  Billy  Geary 
was  just  the  sort  of  impulsive  youth  who  could  not 
rest  until  he  had  advised  Webster  of  his  luck;  on 
the  other  hand,  Billy  was  susceptible,  in  matters  of 
love,  to  the  deep  melancholia  which  is  as  distinct 
a  characteristic  of  the  Hibernian  nature  as  wit  and 
light-heartedness,  and  in  the  event  of  disappointment 
he  would  not  be  apt  to  rush  to  his  partner  with  the 
news;  a  feeling  of  chagrin  would  prompt  him  to  keep 

276 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  277 

his  own  counsel,  to  go  away  and  stay  away  until  he 
had  Smothered  the  ache  and  could  return  and  meet 
Dolores  without  restraint  and  embarrassment. 

In  the  simplicity  of  his  single-hearted  devotion 
Webster  was  puzzled  to  understand  how  any  woman 
in  her  right  mind  could  fail  to  fall  in  love  with  Billy 
Geary.  To  begin,  he  was  a  fine-looking  lad  and 
would  look  finer  when  the  chills  and  fever  had  been 
eradicated;  he  was  far  from  being  a  runt,  mentally 
or  physically;  he  was  gentle,  well-mannered,  kind, 
with  the  gift  of  turning  a  pretty  speech  to  a  woman 
and  meaning  it  with  all  his  heart  and  soul.  A  man  he 
was,  from  heels  to  hair,  and  a  man  with  prospects 
far  above  the  average.  To  Webster's  way  of  think 
ing,  the  girl  who  married  Billy  might  well  count  her 
self  fortunate. 

Dolores  greeted  him  with  unaffected  pleasure. 
"Well,  Caliph!"  she  said.  Just  that.  It  made 
Webster  sensible  of  a  feeling  of  having  returned  to 
her  after  an  absence  of  several  years.  "I'm  so  glad 
to  see  you,  Miss  Ruey,"  he  replied,'and  added  boldly, 
"particularly  since  I  didn't  expect  to." 

She  knew  what  her  reply  would  lead  to;  neverthe 
less,  with  that  dissimulation  which  can  only  be  prac 
tised  in  perfection  by  a  clever  and  beautiful  woman, 
she  answered  with  equal  boldness:  "Indeed!  Pray 
why?" 

"Well,  for  a  pretty  good  reason,  I  think.  A  few 
weeks  ago,  after  examining  Bill's  concession  very 
thoroughly,  I  told  him  he  was  a  potential  millionaire. 
Now,  while  I  disclaim  any  appearance  of  braggadocio, 


278  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

when  John  Stuart  Webster,  E.M.,  makes  any  mine 
owner  a  report  like  that,  he  is  apt  to  be  taken  very 
seriously.  And  having  made  Bill  a  potential  mil 
lionaire  and  arranged  to  give  him  three  or  four 
months'  vacation  back  home,  I  had  a  notion  he'd 
present  to  you  a  very  valid  reason  why  you  should 
accompany  him." 

"You  are  very  frank,  Caliph." 

"That's  because  I'm  curious.  You  do  not  mind 
being  equally  frank  with  an  old  cuss  like  me,  do  you, 
and  telling  me  just  why  Bill's  plans  miscarried?  Be 
cause  he  had  a  certain  dream,  and  told  me  about  it, 
and  I  did  my  little  best  to  make  it  come  true.  You 
see,  Miss  Ruey,  I'm  a  lot  older  than  Bill,  and  I've 
known  him  since  he  was  eighteen  years  old;  I  feel  a 
responsibility  toward  him  that  is  almost  paternal." 

"I  think  I  understand,  Caliph.  It  would  be  very 
difficult,  I  think,  for  anybody  to  meet  Billy  without 
being  attracted  toward  him.  He's  one  of  the  dearest, 
most  lovable  boys  in  the  world — and  he  did  do  me 
the  signal  honour  of  asking  me  to  marry  him.  So 
there!" 

"Well,  and  why  didn't  you?" 

She  smiled  at  his  blunt  insistence  on  forcing  the 
issue.  "For  a  number  of  exrjlent  reasons,  Caliph. 
In  the  first  place,  he  wanted  me  to  marry  him  im 
mediately — and  I  wasn't  ready  to  leave  Sobrante, 
while  Billy  was.  Indeed,  it  was  highly  necessary 
that  he  should  leave  immediately,  for  the  sake  of  his 
health,  and  I  had  Billy's  interest  at  heart  sufficiently 
to  insist  upon  it.  You  seem  to  forget  that  when  a 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  279 

girl  marries  she  must  make  some  preparation  for  the 
event,  and  if  she  has  any  close  relatives,  such  as  a 
brother,  for  instance,  she  likes  to  have  that  relative 
present  at  the  ceremony.  You  will  recall,  Caliph, 
that  I  have  a  brother  and  that  you  have  promised  to 
introduce  me  to  him  very  shortly.  Much  as  you  love 
BiUy,  would  you  insist  upon  depriving  me  of  the  joy 
of  meeting  my  brother  on  the  day  of  his  triumph — 
on  the  day  of  the  triumph  of  our  family — just  to 
please  Billy  by  marrying  him  on  ten  minutes'  notice, 
and  leaving  on  a  honeymoon  next  day?  That  is 
what  you  would  refer  to  as  crowding  my  hand  and 
joggling  my  elbow." 

"By  Judas,  I  never  thought  of  that,  Miss  Ruey," 
the  repentant  Webster  answered.  "In  fact,  I  wasn't 
thinking  of  anybody's  interest  in  this  matter  but 
BiD's.  ' 

"Not  even  of  mine,  Caliph?"  reproachfully. 

"That  goes  without  saying.  Could  I  have  done 
anything  nicer  for  you  than  fix  it  for  Bill  so  he  would 
be  in  position  to  marry  you?  Here  you  are,  prac 
tically  alone  in  the  world — at  least  you  were  when  Bill 
met  you  and  fell  in  love  with  you — and  I  know  that 
boy  so  well  I  was  convinced,  after  meeting  you,  that 
his  future  happiness  and  yours  would  best  be  con 
served  if  you  married  him.  I  hope  you  do  not  think 
I  was  presumptuous  in  thinking  this,  or  that  I  am 
presumptuous  now  in  speaking  my  mind  so  frankly. 
I  realize  this  is  a  most  unusual  conversation " 

"Quite  to  be  expected  of  an  unusual  man,  Caliph. 
And  I  do  not  think  you  were  one  bit  presumptuous. 


280  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

It  was  wonderfully  dear  of  you,  and  I  am  profoundly 
grateful  that  Billy  and  I  have  such  a  true,  unselfish 
friend,  whose  first  thought  is  for  our  happiness.  I 
knew  I  was  going  to  like  you  before  Billy  introduced 
us — and  I  think  more  of  you  than  ever,  now  that  I 
know  you're  a  dear,  blundering  old  matchmaker.  Of 
course  you  realize  how  badly  I  felt  to  think  I  couldn't 
accede  to  Billy's  plan.  Billy's  such  a  dear,  it* quite 
broke  my  heart  to  disappoint  him,  but  a  little  tem 
porary  unhappiness  will  not  ruin  Billy,  will  it?  It 
makes  me  feel  blue  to  talk  about  it,  Caliph." 

"Not  at  all,  not  at  all,  Miss  Ruey.  Bill  is  one  of 
the  impulsive,  whirlwind  kind,  up  in  the  clouds  to 
day  and  down  in  the  slough  of  despond  to-morrow. 
He'll  survive  the  shock.  Of  course,  it  would  have 
been  pretty  nice  if  your  affairs  had  permitted  you  to 
accompany  Bill;  I  never  had  a  honeymoon  myself, 
but  it  must  be  a  great  institution,  and  I  was  all 
wrapped  up  in  the  notion  of  seeing  Bill  have  what 
I'd  never  had  myself — a  honeymoon  and  a  wife  and 
kids  and  money  enough  to  enjoy  'em  all  the  way  that 
God  intended  a  real  man  and  woman  to  enjoy  them. 
However,  I'm  glad  to  know  everything  will  come  out 
all  right.  Seeing  you  here  gave  me  a  momentary 
chill;  thought  a  cog  had  slipped  somewhere,  so  I 
helped  myself  to  Cupid's  license  and  asked.  A  man 
cannot  learn  very  much  from  a  woman  unless  he 
asks  questions,  can  he?  I  mean  on  the  subject  of 
love." 

She  smiled  a  little,  wistful,  knowing  smile,  "No, 
Caliph,"  she  answered  seriously,  "somehow  the 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  281 

Master  of  Things  ordained  that  on  the  subject  of 
love  man  must  do  all  the  talking." 

"Yes,  but  on  the  other  hand,  woman  has  the  last 
word — as  usual.  However,  the  only  thing  in  your 
case  and  Billy's  that  worries  me  is  the  thought  that 
since  Bill  left  his  magnet  behind  he  will  be  drawn 
back  here  before  he  is  in  the  kind  of  shape,  physically, 
that  I  want  him  to  be  in  before  he  relieves  me  on  the 

H 

job  so  I  can  go  away." 

"Do  not  worry  on  that  point,  Caliph.  I  am  your 
ally  there;  between  us  both  I  think  we  can  manage  him. " 

"Fine  business!  Miss  Ruey,  if  that  boy  Bill  ever 
gets  a  notion  in  his  head  that  you  haven't  forgotten 
more  than  he'll  ever  know,  I'll  break  his  neck.  And 
with  those  few  kind  words  we'll  dismiss  William 
until  you  care  to  talk  about  him  again,  although  if 
you're  as  deep  in  love  as  Bill  you'll  not  stay  off  the 
subject  very  long. 

"How  is  Don  Juan  Cafetero,  Caliph?" 

"Coming  out  in  the  wash  and  without  his  colours 

running.     I've  sweated  the  booze  out  of  him,  hiking 

him  over  the  hills,  and  bullied  him  into  eating  solids, 

I  and  a  few  days  ago  I  shut  off  the  firewater  forever,  I 

hope.     However,  I'll  have  to  watch  him  very  closely 

for  a  long  time  yet — particularly  in  town.     Out  at 

the  mine  he'll  be  away  from  temptation.     Hard  work 

is  the  best  cure  for  Don  Juan.     There's  a  deal  of 

i  truth  in  the  old  saying  that  Satan  will  find  mischief 

I  for  idle  hands  to  do.     I  imagine  you've  been  rather 

idle  lately.     Hope  you  haven't  been  into  mischief." 

"I  haven't  been  idle.     I've  made  several  dresses 


282  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

for  Mother  Jenks  and  done  a  lot  of  fancy  work  and 
begun  the  study  of  my  mother  tongue.  If  my 
brother  should  become  president  of  this  country, 
it  would  ill  become  his  sister  not  be  able  to  speak 
Spanish.  By  the  way,  Billy  told  me  you  were  going 
to  remain  up  in  the  hills  quite  a  while  yet.  What 
brought  you  back  to  town  so  soon?" 

"Expected  I'd  have  some  freight  arriving  shortly: 
besides,  I  wanted  to  make  certain  the  title  to  Bill's 
property  didn't  have  any  flaws  in  it." 

"How  long  will  you  remain  in  Buenaventura?" 

Considering  the  fact  that  he  was  no  longer  subject 
to  temptation,  since  the  object  of  his  temptation  was 
now  definitely  promised  to  his  friend  Billy,  Webster 
suddenly  decided  to  remain  until  the  political  atmos 
phere  should  be  cleared,  although  prior  to  his  con 
versation  with  Dolores  he  had  cherished  a  definite 
plan  to  go  back  to  the  hills  within  forty-eight  hours. 
He  could  not  suppress  an  ironic  grin,  despite  the 
pain  and  misery  of  his  predicament,  as  he  reflected 
how  often,  of  late,  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  a 
definite  course  of  action,  only  to  change  it  promptly 
at  some  new  whim  of  fate. 

"I'm  going  back,"  he  replied  soberly,  "after  I  have 
kept  my  promise  and  introduced  you  to  your  brother 
in  the  government  palace.  If  I  cannot  introduce 
him  to  you  there,  the  title  to  our  mining  concession 
will  be  clouded,  in  which  event  it  will  not  be  necessary 
for  Billy  or  myself  to  fuss  with  it  further." 

He  related  to  her  the  information  gleaned  from  her 
brother  two  days  previously. 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  283 

"  It's  no  use  for  an  individual  to  fight  a  government 
despot  in  courts  controlled  by  the  latter,"  he  con 
cluded.  "Your  brother  must  win  and  depose  the 
Sarros;  then  with  the  title  to  the  property  certified 
by  the  government  as  without  a  flaw,  I  may  dare  to 
spend  fifty  thousand  dollars  developing  it." 

"And  if  my  brother  doesn't  win?" 

"I  may  never  have  an  opportunity  to  present 
you  to  him.  We  mustn't  be  squeamish  about  this 
matter,  Miss  Ruey.  If  Ricardo  doesn't  turn  the 
trick,  he  may  go  the  way  of  his  father,  unless  he  can 
manage  to  get  out  of  the  country." 

She  was  silent  a  minute,  digesting  this  grim  alter 
native.  " And  you ? "  she  queried  presently.  "What 
will  happen  to  you?  As  I  understand  it,  you  are 
existing  now  under  a  temporary  license." 

"I  shall  endeavour  to  leave  also — with  dignity.  I 
can  always  land  a  pretty  good  job  back  home,  and 
wherever  I'm  superintendent  the  next  best  job  be 
longs  to  Billy.  The  Lord  is  our  shepherd;  we  shall 
not  want." 

"As  I  understand  it,  then,  Caliph,  Ricardo  hopes 
to  win  his  revolution  when  he  strikes  the  first  blow." 

"I  think  so.  I  dare  say  Ricardo  hopes  to  take 
Sarros  by  surprise,  bottle  the  city  garrison  up  in  the 
cuartel  and  the  government  palace  and  there  besiege 
them.  Having  secured  nominal  control  of  a  seaport, 
he  can  import  arms  and  ammunition;  also  he  can 
recruit  openly,  and  at  his  leisure  hunt  down  the  out 
lying  garrisons.  The  Sarros  crowd  doesn't  suspect 
his  presence  in  Sobrante,  and  by  a  quick,  savage 


. 


284  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

stroke  he  should  be  able  to  jerk  this  one-horse  govern 
ment  up  by  the  heels  in  jig  time — particularly  since 
the  citizenry  feel  no  loyalty  toward  the  Sarros  regime 
and  are  only  kept  in  subjection  through  fear  and  lack 
of  a  leader.  I'm  going  to  play  Ricardo  to  win,  if  he 
isn't  killed  in  the  opening  row,  for  I'm  certain  he'll 
lead  his  men." 

"I  dare  say  he  is  greatly  like  his  father — not  afraid 
to  die  for  his  country,"  she  replied  presently.  "I 
am  glad  to  be  here  when  he  takes  that  risk." 

"  Oh,  but  you  mustn't  be  here,"  Webster  protested. 

"Why?" 

"Because  there'll  be  street  fighting — probably  o 
a  desperate  character,  and  I  understand  your  coun 
trymen  go  rather  war-mad  and  do  things  not  sanc 
tioned  by  the  Hague  tribunal.  If  there's  a  steamer 
"n  port  at  the  time  I'll  put  you  aboard  her  until  the 
issue  is  decided.  She'll  have  to  remain  in  port  be 
cause  while  the  fighting  goes  on  she  cannot  load  or 
discharge." 

"I  could  go  to  the  American  consulate,"  she  sug 
gested. 

"You  could — but  you'll  not.  That  consul  would 
give  you  up  to  the  first  mob  that  called  for  you — and 
I'm  not  so  certain  that  even  the  sister  of  an  arch- 
traitor  (for  patriots  and  revolutionists  are  always 
traitors  when  they  lose)  would  be  safe  from  the 
Sarros  fury.  However,  I'm  going  to  see  Ricardo  to 
morrow  night  and  learn  the  details  of  his  plan  of 
campaign;  after  that  I'll  be  able  to  act  intelligently." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 

RICARDO  RUEY,  with  Doctor  Pacheco  and 
Colonel  Caraveo,  were  engaged  in  consulta 
tion  when  Jack  Webster,  having  left  the 
Hotel  Mateo  via  his  bedroom  window  in  order  to 
iavoid  possible  espionage  and  made  his  way  to  El 
jBuen  Amigo  on  foot,  was  announced  by  Mother 
Jenks.  The  three  conspirators  greeted  him  joyously, 
las  indeed  they  should,  for  his  loyal  friendship  had 
Ithus  far  been  one  of  their  principal  bulwarks. 

"Well,"  Webster  inquired,  after  greeting  them  and 
Icarefully  closing  the  door  behind  him,  "here  I  am  in 
Beunaventura,  marking  time  and,  like  Mr.  Micawber, 
waiting  for  something  to  turn  up." 

"You  will  not  be  required  to  wait  long,"  Colonel 
Caraveo  assured  him.  "Thanks  to  your  kindly 
offices,  the  trap  is  already  baited." 

"Our  friend  Ruey  has,  since  our  first  meeting, 
insisted  on  dispensing  with  my  consent  when  using 
me  to  promote  his  enterprises,  Colonel.  Strange  to 
say,  I  have  been  unable  to  berate  him  for  his  impu 
dence.  I  was  down  at  Leber's  warehouse  this  after 
noon.  You  have  enough  road-making  tools  con 
signed  to  me  there  to  build  a  pretty  fair  highway  to 
the  gates  of  the  government  palace,  I  should  'say. 
I  hope  you  have  all  pondered  the  result  to  me,  an 

285 


£86  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

innocent  bystander,  if  your  enemies  should  take  a 
notion  to  open  one  of  those  cases  of  shovels." 

Colonel  Caraveo  favoured  him  with  a  benignant 
smile.  "You  forget,  my  friend,  that  I  am  second  in 
command  in  the  Intelligence  Department,  and  that 
during  the  absence  of  your  particular  friend  Raoul 
Sarros,  in  New  Orleans,  I  am  first  in  command. 
Since  I  already  know  what  those  cases  contain,  nat 
urally  I  shall  not  take  the  trouble  to  investigate." 

"  Well,  that's  a  comfort,  Colonel." 

"You  have  investigated  your  mining  concession, 
Webster?"  Ricardo  Ruey  asked. 

"You  bet." 

"What  did  you  find?" 

"A  couple  of  millions  in  sight." 

Ricardo  shook  his  head  slowly.  "It  is  not  ini 
sight,  old  man,"  he  reminded  Webster.  "Without 
our  aid — and  you  cannot  have  our  aid  unless  oun 
revolution  is  successful,  when  you  shall  have  it  freely 
— your  millions  are,  most  positively,  not  in  sight. 
If  you  want  those  millions,  friend  Webster,  there  is 
but  one  way  to  get  them — and  that  is  to  close  your 
eyes  and  play  our  game  to  the  limit." 

"It  seems  to  me  I've  been  showing  a  pretty  willing 
spirit  right  along — and  that  without  being  consulted 
in  the  matter,  Rick." 

"You're  one  man  in  a  million.  I  wonder  if  you'd 
go  further — about  forty  thousand  dollars  further. 
to  be  exact." 

"I  might,  but  I  never  go  it  blind  for  a  wad  like 
that.  What's  your  trouble? " 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  287 

"The  revolution  will  fail  if  you  decide  to  deny 
my  request.  I  realize  I  have  the  most  amazing 
presumption  to  ask  anything  of  you,  and  yet  I  am 
moved  to  stake  my  all  on  your  goodness  of  heart, 
having  already  had  ample  evidence  of  that  goodness. 
In  other  words,  I  am  going  to  apply  the  old  principle 
of  driving  a  willing  horse  to  death. 

"The  individual  in  charge  of  the  funds  of  the  revo 
lutionary  junta  in  New  Orleans  was  murdered  last 
night;  the  funds  were  deposited  to  his  credit  as 
agent  in  a  certain  bank,  and  before  the  junta  <jan 
obtain  legal  possession  of  them  again  the  psycholo 
gical  time  for  their  use  will  have  passed. 

"We  have  a  steamer  chartered,  and  two  hundred 
men,  whose  business  it  is  to  fight  under  any  flag  at 
five  dollars  gold  per  day  and  no  questions  asked,  are 
now  marking  time  on  the  Isle  of  Pines,  off  the  coast 
of  Cuba,  waiting  for  our  steamer  to  call  for  them  and 
land  them,  with  their  rifles  and  ammunition  and  six 
seventy -five-millimeter  field-guns  and  some  rapid-fire 
Maxims,  at  San  Bruno,  some  eighteen  miles  up  the 
coast  from  here. 

"  The  guns  and  munitions  are  now  in  Tampa,  hav 
ing  been  shipped  to  our  agent  there  on  sight  draft, 
with  bill  of  lading  attached;  the  steamer  is  chartered 
and  en  route  to  Tampa  from  Norfolk,  Virginia,  and 
we  must  pay  the  owners  ten  thousand  dollars  the 
day  she  begins  taking  on  her  cargo,  and  ten  thousand 
dollars  before  she  unloads  it  on  lighters  at  San  Bruno. 

"We  must  also  pay  two  hundred  men  one  month's 
pay  in  advance — that  is,  thirty  thousand  dollars; 


288  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 


we  cannot  meet  this  expense  and  still  take  up  that 
sight  draft  now  awaiting  our  attention  in  the  bank 
at  Tampa. 

"In  return  for  this  favour  to  the  pro  visional  govern 
ment  of  Sobrante,  you  shall  have  the  note  of  the 
provisional  government,  signed  by  the  provisional 
president,  myself,  and  the  provisional  cabinet,  Doctor 
Pachecho,  Colonel  Caraveo,  and  two  other  gentlemen 
whom  you  will  meet  in  due  course  unless  in  the  in 
terim  they  should  be  killed.  And  as  a  bonus  for 
saving  this  country  from  a  brutal  dictator,  who  is 
pillaging  its  resources  for  his  personal  profit,  you  shall 
have  a  deed  of  gift  to  that  mining  concession  you  and 
your  friend  Geary  are  so  desirous  of  working;  also 
the  title  shall  be  certified  by  the  government  and  the 
Supreme  Court  of  Sobrante  and  absolutely  secured 
to  you  against  future  aggression  in  the  event  that 
the  new  regime  should  be  overthrown  at  some  future 
date.  Also  you  have  my  profound  gratitude  and 
that  of  my  people." 

"Tell  me  your  plan  of  campaign,"  Webster  sug 
gested. 

"In  a  secret  rendezvous  in  the  mountains  I  have 
one  thousand  picked  men — my  father's  veterans. 
They  are  armed  with  modern  rifles  and  machetes. 
The  nitrate  company,  which  has  been  suffering  from 
heavy  export  duties  imposed  by  Sarros,  would  help 
us  financially,  I  think,  but  it  is  not  well  for  a  provi 
sional  government  to  begin  by  asking  financial  favours 
of  a  huge  foreign  corporation;  so,  much  to  the  sur 
prise  of  their  local  manager,  to  whom  I  have  con- 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  289 

fided  my  plans,  I  have  merely  asked  for  the  loan 
of  all  the  rolling  stock  of  the  railroad  for  one  night. 
It  will  be  mobilized  at  San  Miguel  de  Padua  by  next 
Saturday  night;  my  troops  will  arrive  late  the  same 
afternoon  and  entrain  at  once. 

"In  the  interim  all  telephone  and  telegraph  com 
munications  with  Buenaventura  will  be  severed. 
The  night  previous  our  steamer  will  have  discharged 
her  cargo  of  men  and  munitions  at  San  Bruno;  a 
chain  of  outposts  will  at  once  be  established  and  all 
communication  with  the  capital  will  be  shut  off. 

"On  Saturday  night,  also,  the  Consolidated  Fruit 
Company's  steamer  La  EstreUita  will  make  port  with 
thirty  Americans  in  her  steerage.  These  men  will 
be  road-makers  and  miners  imported  by  Mr.  J.  S. 
Webster,  and  in  order  to  make  certain  that  they  will 
come,  you  have  already  ordered  them  by  cable.  I 
took  the  liberty  of  seeing  to  it  that  the  cable  signed 
by  you  was  sent  to  New  Orleans  several  days  ago,  and 
as  part  of  the  bluff  of  keeping  all  of  your  movements 
under  surveillance,  a  copy  of  this  cablegram  was  fur 
nished  to  the  subordinate  of  our  good  Colonel  Cara*- 
veo,  charged  with  reporting  on  your  movements. 
We  have  arranged  with  the  port  doctor  to  give  La 
EstreUita  a  clean  bill  of  health  the  very  night  she 
arrives.  Hence  the  ship's  authorities  will  not  be 
suspicious,  I  hope,  when  we  remove  our  men  after 
dark  and  house  them  in  Leber's  warehouse,  where 
they  will  spend  the  night  unpacking  those  spades, 
picks,  and  shovels  of  yours  and  getting  the  factory 
grease  off  them. 


290  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"At  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  various  citizens 
of  Sobrante,  with  rebellion  in  their  hearts,  will  begin 
to  mobilize  at  Leber's  warehouse,  where  they  will  be 
issued  rifles  and  ammunition  and  where  they  will  wait 
until  the  action  is  opened  to  the  south  by  the  detach 
ment  from  San  Bruno,  which,  having  marched  from 
San  Bruno  the  night  before,  will  have  arrived  outside 
the  city,  and  will  be  awaiting  the  signal  from  me.  If 
will  attack  from  the  west — cautiously. 

"Now,  there  are  five  thousand  government  troops 
in  the  city  and  in  various  cantonments  on  the  out 
skirts.  These  cantonments  are  to  be  rushed  and  set 
afire;  I  figure  that  the  confusion  of  our  sudden  attack 
will  create  a  riot — particularly  when  I  do  something 
that  isn't  very  popular  as  a  war  feature  down  this 
way,  and  that  is  charge — and  keep  on  coming.  Down 
this  way,  you  know,  Webster,  a  battle  consists  in  a 
horrible  wastage  of  ammunition  at  long  range,  and 
casualties  of  three  killed  and  twelve  wounded.  The 
good,  old-fashioned  charge  isn't  to  their  liking;  they 
hate  cold  steel.  * 

"These  government  troops  will  start  to  fall  back 
on  the  city,  only  to  find  themselves  flanked  by  a 
fierce  artillery  fire  from  the  San  Bruno  contingent;  the 
troops  from  the  arsenal,  the  Guards  at  the  palace 
and  the  Fifteenth  Regiment  of  Infantry,  now  sta 
tioned  at  the  Cuartel  de  Infanteria,  next  the  govern 
ment  palace,  will  be  dispatched  post  haste  to  repulse 
the  attack,  and  four  hundred  men,  with  the  machine- 
gun  company  waiting  in  Leber's  warehouse,  will 
promptly  move  upon  them  from  the  rear  and  capture 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  291 

the  arsenal.  There  are  a  few  thousand  rifles  and  a 
lot  of  ammunition  stored  there;  I  miss  my  guess  if, 
as  soon  as  the  news  of  its  capture  by  the  rebels  spreads 
through  the  city  (and  I  shall  have  men  to  spread  it), 
I  shall  not  have  a  few  thousand  volunteers  eager  to 
help  overthrow  Sarros. 

"When  the  government  troops  find  themselves 
under  the  kind  of  shell-fire  I've  prepared  for  them, 
and  with  machine  guns  and  Maxims  playing  on  them, 
in  close  formation  frotn  the  rear,  they'll  surrender  in 
droves — if  they  live  to  surrender. 

"Once  cut  off  from  the  arsenal  and  the  palace, 
Sarros  must  fight  his  way  out  of  the  city  in  order  to 
have  the  slightest  chance  to  suppress  the  rebellion, 
for  he  will  have  no  refuge  in  the  city.  And  with  the 
railroad  and  all  the  rolling  stock  in  our  hands,  with 
out  a  commissary  for  his  troops,  without  a  base  of 
supplies,  even  should  the  government  troops  fight 
then*  way  through,  they  leave  the  city  in  my  hands 
and  I'll  recruit  and  arm  my  men  and  hunt  them  down 
like  jack -rabbits  at  my  leisure.  Once  let  the  arsenal 
and  the  palace  fall  into  my  hands,  once  let  me  pro 
claim  myself  provisional  president,  once  let  the  people 
know  that  Ricardo  Ruey,  the  Beloved,  lives  again 
in  the  person  of  his  son,  and  I  tell  you,  Webster,  this 
country  is  saved." 

"You  lead  the  army  from  San  Miguel  de  Padua, 
Ricardo.  Wholeads  the  detachment  from  San  Bruno  ? " 

"Colonel  Caraveo." 

"And  the  machine-gun  company  from  Leber's 
warehouse?" 


1 


292  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Doctor  Pacheco.  How  do  you  like  my  plan  of 
campaign?" 

"It  couldn't  be  any  better  if  I  had  planned  it  my 
self.  You  might  accept  my  suggestion  and  armour 
that  little  motor  truck  of  mine.  It  arrived^  on  yes 
terday's  steamer." 

"And  some  armour  sheet  steel  with  it — sheet  steel 
already  loopholed  for  the  barrels  of  the  two  machine 
guns  it  will  carry!"  Doctor  Pacheco  cried  joyously. 

"Have  you  provided  a  chauffeur,  Doctor?" 

"I  have — likewise  an  armoured  sheet-steel  closet 
for  him  to  sit  in  while  chauff curing. " 

"Don't  forget  the  oil  and  gasoline,"  Webster  cau 
tioned  him  quizzically. 

"How  about  that  loan  to  the  provisional  govern 
ment?"  Ricardo  demanded  pointedly. 

Webster  did  not  hesitate.  After  all,  what  was 
money  to  him  now?  Moreover,  he  was  between  the 
devil  and  the  deep  sea,  as  it  were.  Billy  had  gone 
away,  his  hopes  raised  high,  already  a  millionaire 
after  the  fashion  of  mining  men,  who  are  ever  ready 
to  count  their  chicks  before  they  are  hatched,  pro^ 
vided  only  they  see  the  eggs.  Besides,  there  was 
Dolores.  Full  well  Webster  realized  that  Billy, 
tossed  back  once  more  into  the  jaws  of  the  well- 
known  wolf  of  poverty,  would  not  have  the  courage 
upon  his  return  to  Sobrante  to  ask  Dolores  to  share 
his  poverty  with  him;  should  the  revolution  fail, 
Ricardo  Ruey  would  be  an  outcast,  a  hunted  man 
with  a  price  on  his  head,  and  in  no  position  to  care 
for  his  sister,  even  should  he  survive  long  enough  to 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  293 

know  he  had  a  sister.  Webster  thought  of  her — so 
sweet,  so  winsome,  so  brave  and  trusting,  so  worthy 
of  all  that  the  world  might  hold  for  her  of  sweetness 
and  comfort.  She  would  be  alone  in  the  world  if  he, 
John  Stuart  Webster,  failed  her  now — more  than  ever 
she  needed  a  man's  strength  and  affection  to  help 
her  navigate  the  tide-rips  of  life,  for  life  to  a  woman, 
alone  and  unprotected  and  dependent  upon  her  labour 
for  the  bread  she  must  eat,  must  contain,  at  best, 
a  full  measure  of  terror  and  despair  and  loneliness. 
He  pictured  her  through  a  grim  processional  of  years 
of  skimping  and  petty  sacrifices — and  all  because  he, 
John  Stuart  Webster,  had  hesitated  to  lend  a  dreamer 
and  an  idealist  a  paltry  forty  thousand  dollars  with 
out  security. 

No,  there  was  no  alternative.  As  they  say  in 
Mexico,  Ricardo  had  him  tiron,  meaning  there  was 
no  escape.  If  his  friendship  for  Billy  was  worth  a 
sou,  it  was  worth  forty  thousand  dollars;  if  his  silent, 
unrequited  love  for  Dolores  Ruey  was  worthy  of 
her,  no  sacrifice  on  his  part  could  be  too  great,  pro 
vided  it  guaranteed  her  happiness. 

"Ruined  again,"  he  sighed.  "This  is  only  another 
of  those  numerous  occasions  when  the  tail  goes  with 
the  hide.  How  soon  do  you  want  the  money?" 

Ricardo  Luiz  Ruey  leaned  forward  and  gazed 
very  earnestly  at  John  Stuart  Webster.  "Do  you 
really  trust  me  that  much,  my  friend?"  he  asked 
feelingly.  "Remember,  I  am  asking  you  for  forty 
thousand  dollars  on  faith." 

"Old  sport,"  John  Stuart  Webster  answered,  "y°u 


294  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

went  overboard  in  Buenaventura  harbour  and  took 
a  chance  among  those  big,  liver-coloured,  hammer- 
headed  sharks.  And  you  did  that  because  you  had 
a  cause  you  thought  worth  dying  for.  I  never  knew 
a  man  who  had  a  cause  that  was  worth  dying  for  who 
would  even  espouse  a  cause  worth  swindling  for. 
You  win — only  I  want  you  to  understand  one  thing, 
Ricardo:  I'm  not  doing  this  for  the  sake  of  saving 
that  mining  concession  the  Sarros  government*  gave 
my  friend  Geary.  I'm  above  doing  a  thing  like  this 
for  money — for  myself.  It  seems  to  me  I  must  do 
it  to  guarantee  the  happiness  of  two  people  I  love: 
my  friend  Geary  and  the  girl  he's  going  to  marry.  I 
reject  your  promissory  note  and  your  promise  of  a 
deed  of  gift  for  that  concession,  and  accept  only  your 
gratitude.  There  are  no  strings  to  this  loan,  be 
cause  it  isn't  a  loan  at  all.  It's  a  bet.  If  you  lose, 
I'll  help  you  get  out  of  the  country  and  absolve  you 
of  any  indebtedness  to  me.  We'll  just  make  a  new 
book  and  start  making  bets  all  over  again,  Rick. 
However,  if  you  should  win,  I  know  you'll  reimburse 
me  from  the  national  treasury." 

"And  you  do  not  desire  a  bonus?" 

"Nothing  that  will  cost  the  citizens  of  this  country 
one  penny  of  their  heritage.  I'm  going  to  bet  this 
money — bet  it,  understand,  not  loan  it,  because  a 
loan  predicates  repayment  at  some  future  date,  and 
for  the  sake  of  my  self-respect  as  a  business  man  I'd 
hate  to  make  a  bum  loan  of  that  magnitude  on  no 
security.  However,  if  you  want  to  be  a  sport  and 
grant  me  a  little  favour  in  return,  you  can." 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  295 

"Name  it,  friend." 

"As  soon  as  you  have  been  recognized  by  the 
United  States,  I  want  you  to  have  your  ambassador 
in  Washington  make  representations  to  my  govern 
ment  that  the  present  American  consul  in  Sobrante 
is  not  acceptable  to  your  government.  That  fellow 
is  a  disgrace  to  my  native  land  and  I  want  him  fired." 

"It  shall  be  my  first  official  act  after  freeing  my 
country  from  a  tyrant's  yoke." 

"Another  little  favour  also,  Ricardo."  This  time 
Webster  spoke  in  English. 

"Fire  away." 

"After  I  give  you  this  money,  I  don't  want  the 
Doctor  and  the  Colonel  to  kiss  me  to  show  how  grate 
ful  they  are." 

"You  wonderful  fellow!  Jack  Webster,  if  I  had  a 
sister  I  should  want  her  to  marry  you." 

"Shows  how  little  you'd  think  of  your  sister — 
staking  her  to  a  sentimental  jackass.  Shall  I  cable 
the  money  to  New  Orleans  in  the  morning?  I  have  a 
letter  of  credit  for  my  entire  bank-roll,  and  I  can  give 
a  draft  at  the  Banco  Nacional,  and  have  them  cable  a 
New  Orleans  bank." 

"That  will  do  very  nicely." 

"To  whom  shall  I  cable  the  money?" 

"Send  it  to  the  Picayune  National  Bank  of  New 
Orleans,  with  instructions  to  credit  account  Number 
246,  J.  E.  P.,  trustee.  In  this  little  game  we  are 
playing,  my  friend,  it  is  safer  to  deal  in  numbers  and 
initials  rather  than  names.  The  local  cable  office 
leaks  quite  regularly." 


296  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Very  well,  Ricardo,  I'll  attend  to  it  first  thing 
in  the  morning.  Where  are  you  going  to  armour  that 
motor  truck?" 

"If  you'll  have  it  run  over  to  the  nitrate  company's 
machine  shop  at  the  railway  terminus  the  foreman 
there  will  attend  to  the  job  and  keep  the  truck  under 
cover  until  Friday  night,  when  they'll  run  it  back 
to  Leber's  warehouse  for  the  machine  guns  Sunday 
morning." 

"Is  Leber  in  on  this  deal?" 

"He  is  not.  What  Leber  doesn't  know  will  no£ 
worry  him.  He  doesn't  live  in  his  warehouse,  you 
know.  We're  just  going  to  take  possession  after 
dark,  when  the  water-front  is  absolutely  deserted. 
There's  a  concert  on  the  Malecon  that  night,  and 
everybody  who  can  ride  or  walk  will  be  out  there 
listening  to  it." 

Webster  nodded  his  approval  of  Ricardo's  clever 
plans.  "All  right,  old  man,  go  to  it  and  win,  or 
there'll  be  several  new  faces  whining  around  the  devil, 
not  the  least  of  which  will  be  mine.  When  you 
charge,  remember  you're  charging  for  my  forty 
thousand  dollars — and  go  through  with  it.  ;  I  worked 
rather  hard  for  that  forty  thousand,  and  if  I  must 
lose  it,  I  do  not  want  to  do  it  in  a  half-hearted  fight. 
Give  me,  at  least,  a  bloody  run  for  my  money.  I'll 
have  a  reserved  seat  somewhere  watching  the  game." 

"If  you'll  take  my  advice,  you'll  go  aboard  La 
Estrellita  and  stay  there  until  the  issue  is  decided. 
When  the  first  gun  is  fired,  it  signals  the  open  season 
on  mining  engineers  who  butt  in  on  affairs  of  state." 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  297 

"What!  And  me  with  a  healthy  bet  down  on  the 
result!  I  hope  I'm  a  better  sport  than  that." 

"You're  incorrigible.  Be  careful,  then,  and  don't 
get  yourself  potted  by  a  stray  bullet.  When  these 
brownies  of  mine  get  excited,  they  shoot  at  every 
head  in  sight." 

"Shall  I  see  you  fellows  before  the  blow-off?" 

"I  scarcely  think  so." 

"Then  if  you're  through  with  me,  I'll  bid  you  all 
good-bye  and  good  luck.  I'll  have  dinner  with  you 
in  the  palace  Sunday  evening." 

"Taken." 

"May  I  bring  a  guest?" 

"By  all  means." 

Webster  shook  hands  with  the  trio  and  departed 
fdr  his  hotel.  For  the  first  time  in  many  years  he 
vjss  heavy  of  heart,  crushed.  "Neddy  Jerome  was 
rigLc,"  he  soliloquized.  "This  is  the  last  place  on 
e*rth  for  me  to  have  come  to.  I've  made  Neddy 
sore  on  me,  and  he's  lost  patience  and  put  another 
man  in  the  job  he  promised  me;  I've  raised  Billy's 
hopes  sky-high  and  had  to  bet  forty  thousand  dollars 
to  keep  them  there;  I've  been  fool  enough  to  fall  in 
love  with  my  friend's  fiancee;  I'm  a  human  cat's-paw, 
and  the  finest  thing  I  can  do  now  is  to  go  out  next 
Sunday  morning  with  that  machine-gun  company 
from  Leber's  warehouse  and  get  killed.  And  I 
would,  too,  in  a  holy  second,  if  killing  a  dozen  of  these 
spiggoties  were  part  of  a  mining  engineer's  business. 
I  just  don't  belong  in  this  quarrel  and  I  cannot  kill 
for  pleasure  or  profit.  All  I  get  out  of  this  deal  is 


298  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

gratitude  and  empty  honour,  where  I  dreamed  of 
love  and  a  home  in  my  old  age.  John  Stuart  Web 
ster,  the  family  friend !  Well,  after  all,  it  isn't  every 
old  sour-dough  that  has  an  opportunity  to  be  a 
liberator,  and  even  if  I  have  lost  Dolores,  I  have 
this  melancholy  satisfaction:  I  have  a  rattling  good 
chance  of  getting  that  scrubby  American  consul." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THREE 

THE  following  morning  Webster  informed  Do 
lores  fully  of  his  interview  with  her  brother  and 
his  confreres  the  night  before,  concealing  from 
her  only  the  fact  that  he  was  financing  the  revolu 
tion  and  his  reasons  for  financing  it.  He  was  still 
depressed,  and  Dolores,  observing  his  mood,  forbore 
to  intrude  upon  it.  Intuitively  she  realized  that 
when  a  man  is  worried  and  harassed  by  matters  he 
cannot  or  dares  hot  divulge,  he  dislikes  being  talked 
to,  but  prefers  to  be  alone  and  wrestle  with  them  in 
silence.  Accordingly  she  claimed  the  prerogative  of 
her  sex — a  slight  headache — and  retreated  to  her 
room,  jn  the  privacy  of  which  she  was  suddenly  very 
much  surprised  to  find  herself  weeping  softly  because 
John  Stuart  Webster  was  unhappy  and  didn't  deserve 
to  be. 

It  was  impossible,  however,  for  Webster  long  to 
remain  impervious  to  the  note  of  ridiculousness  un 
derlying  the  forthcoming  tragic  events.  Here  was  a 
little  two-by-four  poverty-stricken  hot-bed  of  ignor 
ance  and  intrigue  calling  itself  a  republic,  a  little 
stretch  of  country  no  larger  than  a  couple  of  big 
western  counties,  about  to  indulge  in  the  national 
pastime  of  civil  war  and  unable  to  do  it  except  by 
grace  of  an  humble  citizen  of  a  sister  republic! 

299 


300  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Five  thousand  ignorant,  ill-equipped,  ill-drilled 
semi-brigands  calling  themselves  soldiers,  entrusted 
with  the  task  of  enabling  one  of  their  number, to  ride, 
horse  and  dog,  over  a  million  people! 

How  farcical!  No  wonder  Ricardo,  with  his 
northern  viewpoint,  approached  his  patriotic  task 
with  gayety,  almost  with  contempt.  And  when 
Webster  recalled  that  the  about-to-be-born  provi 
sional  government  had  casually  borrowed  from  him 
the  sum  of  forty  thousand  dollars  in  order  to  turn 
the  trick — borrowing  it,  forsooth,  in  much  the  same 
spirit  as  a  commuter  boarding  his  train  without  the 
necessary  fare  hails  a  neighbour  and  borrows  ten 
cents — his  natural  optimism  asserted  itself  and  he 
chuckled  as  in  fancy  he  heard  himself  telling  the 
story  to  Neddy  Jerome  and  being  branded  a  iiar  for 
his  pains. 

"Well,  I've  had  one  comfort  ever  since  I  first  saw 
that  girl,"  he  reflected  philosophically.  "While  I've 
never  been  so  unhappy  in  all  my  life  before,  or  had 
to  tear  my  soul  out  by  the  roots  so  often,  things  have 
been  coming  my  way  so  fast  from  other  directions 
that  I  haven't  had  much  opportunity  to  dwell  on 
the  matter.  And  for  these  compensating  offsets, 
good  Lord,  I  thank  thee." 

He  was  John  Stuart  Webster  again  when  Dolores 
saw  him  next;  during  the  succeeding  days  his  mood 
of  cheerfulness  and  devil-may-care  indifference  never 
left  him.  And  throughout  that  period  of  marking 
time  Dolores  was  much  in  his  society,  a  condition 
which  he  told  himself  was  not  to  his  liking  but  which, 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  301 

nevertheless,  he  could  not  obviate  without  seeming 
indifferent  to  her  happiness.  And  to  permit  his 
friend's  fiancee  to  languish  in  loneliness  and 
heart-break  did  not  appear  to  John  Stuart  Webster 
as  the  part  of  a  true  friend  or  a  courtly  gentleman 
— and  he  remembered  that  she  had  once  called  him 
that. 

They  rode  together  in  the  cool  of  the  morning; 
they  drove  together  on  the  Malecon  in  the  cool  of 
the  evening;  chaperoned  by  Don  Juan  Cafetero  and 
a  grinning  Sobrantean,  they  went  shark-fishing  in 
Leber's  launch;  they  played  dominoes  together;  they 
discussed,  throughout  the  long,  lazy,  quiet  afternoons, 
when  the  remainder  of  their  world  retired  for  the 
siesta,  books,  art,  men,  women,  and  things. 

And  not  once,  throughout  those  two  weeks  of 
camaraderie,  did  the  heart-racked  Webster  forget  for 
a  single  instant  that  he  was  the  new  friend,  destined 
to  become  the  old  friend;  never,  to  the  girl's  watchful 
eyes,  did  he  betray  the  slightest  disposition  to  estab 
lish  their  friendly  relations  on  a  closer  basis. 

Thus  did  the  arrival  of  The  Day  find  them.  To 
ward  sunset  they  rode  out  together  along  the  bay 
shore  and  noted  far  out  to  sea  the  smear  of  smoke  that 
marked  the  approach  of  La  Estrellita — on  schedule 
time.  As  they  jogged  homeward  in  the  dusk,  her 
red  and  green  side-lights  were  visible  as  she  crept 
into  the  harbour;  above  the  sobbing  murmur  of  the 
Caribbean  wavelets  they  heard  the  scream  of  her 
winches  and  the  rattle  of  chain  as  her  anchor  bit 
the  bottom. 


302  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"You  will  go  aboard  her  to-night,"  Webster  said 
very  quietly  to  Dolores. 

"And  you?" 

"I  shall  go  aboard  with  you.  I  have  arranged 
with  Don  Juan  for  him  to  stay  ashore  and  to  come 
out  in  Leber's  launch  with  the  first  reliable  news  of 
the  conflict.  If  Ricardo  wins  the  city,  he  wins  the 
revolution,  and  you  and  I  will  then  go  ashore — to 
dine  with  him  in  the  palace.  If  he  loses  the  city, 
he  loses  the  revolution,  and  we  will  both  do  well  to 
remain  aboard  La  Estrellita." 

"And  in  that  event,  what  will  become  of  my 
brother?" 

"I  do  not  know;  I  forgot  to  ask  him,  but  if  he  sur 
vives,  I  imagine  he'll  have  sense  enough  to  know  he's 
whipped  and  will  retreat  on  San  Bruno,  fighting  a 
rear-guard  action,  embark  aboard  the  steamer  that 
brought  his  men  there,  and  escape." 

"But  he  has  so  few  men,"  she  quavered. 

"Two  hundred  of  them  are  white  soldiers  of  for 
tune — and  you  must  remember  how  Walker  man 
handled  Nicaragua  with  that  number  of  men." 

"I'm  worried  about  Mother  Jenks." 

"I  have  asked  Mother  Jenks  to  dine  with  us  at 
seven-thirty  this  evening,  and  have  ordered  a  carriage 
to  call  for  her.  When  she  comes  I'll  tell  her  every 
thing;  then,  if  she  wishes  to  stay  ashore,  let  her. 
She's  been  through  more  than  one  such  fracas  and 
doesn't  mind  them  at  all,  I  dare  say." 

And  in  this  Webster  was  right.     Mother  Jenks 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  303 

listened  in  profound  silence,  nodding  her  approval,  as 
Webster  related  to  her  the  story  of  the  advent  in  the 
country  of  Ricardo  Ruey  and  his  plans,  but  without 
revealing  the  identity  of  Andrew  Bowers. 

At  the  conclusion  of  his  recital  the  old  publican 
merely  said :  "  Gor'  bli'  me ! " 

After  a  silence  she  added:  "My  sainted  'Enery 
used  to  s'y  the  proper  hodds  for  a  white  man  in  a 
bally  row  o'  this  nature  was  forty  to  one.  'The 
spiggoty,'  says  'e,  shoots  from  'is  'ip,  but  the  wisitin' 
brother's  spent  'is  'prenticeship  at  the  butts  some- 
w'ere  or  other  an'  'as  bloomin'  well  learned  to  sight 
an'  'old  his  breath  'arf  in  an'  'arf  out  when  'e  pulls. 
Gor',  but  how  my  sainted  'Enery  would  henjoy  bein' 
'ere  this  night  to  'elp  with  the  guns."  She  sighed. 

"How  about  a  little  bottle  of  wine  to  drink  peace  to 
your  sainted  Henry  and  luck  to  The  Cause?  "  Webster 
suggested. 

"That's  wot  I  calls  talkin',"  Mother  Jenks  re 
sponded  promptly,  and  Webster,  gazing  reflectively 
at  the  old  lady's  beard,  wondered  why  she  had  not 
been  born  a  man. 

Dolores,  fearful  for  her  benefactor's  safety,  urged 
Mother  Jenks  to  accompany  them  out  aboard  La 
Estrellita,  but  the  old  dame  indignantly  refused, 
and  when  pressed  for  a  reason  gave  it  with  the  utmost 
frankness:  "They'll  be  tykin'  Sarros,  an'  when  they 
tyke  'im  they'll  back  him  ag'in  the  same  wall  he 
backed  my  sainted  'Enery  and  your  father  against, 
my  dear.  I've  a  notion  that  your  father's  son'll 
let  Mrs.  Colonel  'Enery  Jenks  come  to  the  party." 


304  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

At  ten  o'clock  Webster  accompanied  Mother  Jenks 
home  in  the  carriage,  which  he  dismissed  at  El  Buen 
Amigo — with  instructions  to  return  to  the  hotel 
while  he  continued  afoot  down  the  Calle  San  Rosario 
to  the  bay,  where  Leber's  huge  corrugated-iron  ware 
house  loomed  darkly  above  high-water  mark.  If 
there  was  light  within,  it  was  not  visible,  but  Webster, 
pausing  and  listening  at  one  corner  of  the  great  struc 
ture,  could  hear  the  confused  murmur  of  many  voices, 
with  an  occasional  hearty  oath  in  English  rising 
above  the  murmur. 

He  slipped  along  in  the  deep  shadow  of  the  ware 
house  wall  and  out  on  the  end  of  the  little  dock, 
where  he  satisfied  himself  that  Leber's  launch  was 
at  its  moorings;  then  he  went  back  to  the  warehouse 
and  whistled  softly,  whereupon  a  man  crawled  out 
from  under  the  structure  and  approached  him.  It 
was  Don  Juan  Cafetero. 

"They're  all  inside,"  he  whispered  and  laid  finger 
on  lip.  "A  lad  came  down  at  eight  o'clock,  took 
Leber's  launch  an'  wint  out  to  the  steamer  afther 
thim.  They  got  in  half  an  hour  ago,  an'  divil  a 
sowl  the  wiser  save  meself." 

"  Thank  you,  John.  Now  that  I  know  the  coast  is 
clear  and  the  launch  ready,  I'll  go  back  to  the  hotel 
for  Miss  Ruey." 

"Very  well,  sor,"  Don  Juan  replied,  and  crawled 
back  under  the  warehouse. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  sound  of  hoofbeats  warned 
him  of  the  approach  of  Webster  and  Dolores  in  a 
carriage,  and  he  came  forth,  loaded  in  the  launch 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  305 

such  baggage  as  they  had  been  enabled  to  bring,  and 
held  the  gunwale  of  the  boat  while  his  passengers 
stepped  aboard. 

While  Don  Juan  cast  off  the  painter,  Webster 
primed  the  motor  and  turned  it  over;  with  a  snort  it 
started,  and  under  Webster's  guidance  the  launch 
backed  swiftly  out  into  the  bay,  where  Don  Juan 
lighted  the  side-lights  and  riding-light,  and  loafed  off 
into  the  darkness. 

About  a  half  a  mile  off  shore  Webster  throttled 
down  the  motor  until  the  launch  barely  made  steerage 
way.  "It  would  never  do  to  go  aboard  the  steamer 
before  the  fracas  started  ashore,"  he  explained  to 
Dolores.  "That  would  indicate  a  guilty  knowledge 
of  coming  events,  and  in  the  event  of  disaster  to  the 
rebel  arms  it  is  just  possible  Sefior  Sarros  might  have 
pull  enough,  if  he  hears  of  our  flight  six  hours  in  ad 
vance  of  hostilities,  to  take  us  off  the  steamer  and  ask 
us  to  explain.  So  we'll  just  cruise  slowly  around  and 
listen;  the  attack  will  come  just  before  dawn;  then 
shortly  thereafter  we  can  scurry  out  to  the  steamer 
and  be  welcomed  aboard  for  the  sake  of  the  news  we 
bring." 

She  did  not  answer,  and  Webster  knew  her  thoughts 
were  out  where  the  arc-lights  on  the  outskirts  of 
Buenaventura  met  the  open  country — out  where 
the  brother  she  could  scarcely  remember  and  whom, 
until  a  month  previous,  she  had  believed  dead,  would 
shortly  muster  his  not  too  numerous  followers. 

In  the  darkness  Webster  could  hear  the  click  of 
her  beads  as  she  prayed;  on  the  turtle  deck  forward 


306  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Don  Juan  Cafetero  sprawled,  thinking  perchance  of 
his  unlovely  past  and  wondering  what  effect  the 
events  shortly  to  transpire  ashore  would  have  on  his 
future.  He  wished  Webster  would  relent  and  offer 
him  a  drink  some  time  within  the  next  twenty-four 
hours.  In  times  of  excitement  like  the  present  a  man 
needs  a  drop  to  brace  him  up. 

Five  times  the  launch  slipped  lazily  down  the 
harbour  along  the  straggling  two  mile  water-front; 
five  times  it  loafed  back.  The  moon,  which  was  in 
the  first  quarter,  sank.  For  the  hundredth  time 
Don  Juan  Cafetero  chanted  dolorously  "The  Death 
of  Sarsfield"  and  the  tuneful  glories  of  the  late 
O'Donnel  Abu — and  then  to  Webster's  alert  ear  there 
floated  across  the  still  waters  the  sound  of  a  gentle 
purring — the  music  of  an  auto-truck.  He  set  the 
launch  in  toward  Leber's  little  dock,  and  presently 
they  saw  the  door  of  Leber's  warehouse  open.  Men 
with  lanterns  streamed  forth,  lighting  the  way  for 
others  who  bore  between  them  heavy  burdens. 

"They're  emplacing  the  machine  guns  in  the 
motor- truck,"  he  whispered  to  Dolores.  "We  will 
not  have  to  wait  long  now.  It's  nearly  four  o'clock." 

Again  they  backed  out  into  the  bay  until  they  could 
see  far  out  over  the  sleeping  city  to  the  hills  beyond 
in  the  west.  Presently  along  the  side  of  those  hills 
the  headlight  of  a  locomotive  crept,  dropping  swiftly 
down  grade  until  it  disappeared  in  the  lowlands. 

A  half -hour  passed;  then  to  the  south  of  the  city 
a  rocket  flared  skyward;  almost  instantly  another 
flared  from  the  west,  followed  presently  by  a  murmur, 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  307 

scarcely  audible,  as  of  a  muffled  snare  drum,  punc 
tuated  presently  by  a  louder,  sharper,  insistent  puck- 
puck-puck-puck  that,  had  Webster  but  known  it,  was 
the  bark  of  a  Maxim- Vickers  rapid-fire  gun  throw 
ing  a  stream  of  shells  into  the  cantonments  of  the 
government  troops  on  the  fringe  of  the  city. 

Webster's  pulse  quickened.  He  was  possessed  of 
that  feeling  which  actuates  a  small  boy  to  follow  the 
fire-engines.  "There  goes  the  'tillery  to  the  south, 
sor,"  Don  Juan  called,  and  even  as  he  spoke,  a  shell 
burst  gloriously  over  the  government  palace,  the 
white  walls  of  which  were  already  looming  over  the 
remainder  of  the  city,  now  faintly  visible  in  the  ap 
proaching  dawn. 

"That  was  to  awaken  our  friend  Sarros,"  Webster 
cried.  "I'll  bet  a  buffalo  nickel  that  woke  the  old 
horsethief  up.  There's  another — and  another." 

The  uproar  swelled,  the  noise  gradually  drifting 
around  the  city  from  west  to  south,  forming,  seem 
ingly,  a  semicircle  of  sound.  "The  government 
troops  are  up  and  doing  now,"  Webster  observed, 
and  speeded  up  his  motor.  "I  think  it  high  time 
we  played  the  part  of  frightened  refugees.  When 
that  machine-gun  company  with  its  infantry  escort 
starts  up  through  the  city  from  Leber's  warehouse 
it  may  encounter  early  opposition — and  I've  heard 
that  Mauser  bullets  kill  at  three  miles.  Some  strays 
may  drop  out  here  in  the  bay." 

He  speeded  the  launch  toward  La  Estrellita,  and 
as  the  craft  scraped  in  alongside  the  great  steamer's 
companion  landing,  her  skipper  ran  down  the  ladder 


SOS  WEBSTER— MAX'S  MAN 

to  greet  them  and  inquire  eagerly  of  the  trend  of 
events  ashore. 

"We  left  in  a  hurry  the  instant  it  started,"  Web 
ster  explained.  "As  Americans,  we  didn't  figure  we 
had  any  interest  in  that  scrap,  either  way."  He 
handed  Dolores  out  on  the  landing  stage,  tossed  their 
baggage  after  her  and  followed;  Don  Juan  took  the 
wheel,  and  the  launch  slid  out  and  left  them  there. 

At  the  head  of  the  companion  ladder  Webster 
paused  and  turned  for  another  look  at  Buenaventura. 
To  the  west  three  great  fires  now  threw  a  lurid  light 
skyward,  mocking  an  equally  lurid  light  to  the  east, 
that  marked  the  approach  of  daylight.  He  smiled. 
"Those  are  the  cantonment  barracks  burning,"  he 
whispered  to  Dolores.  "  Ricardo  is  keeping  his  word. 
He's  driving  the  rats  back  into  their  own  holes." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FOUR 

THE  weeks  of  clean  living,  of  abstention  from 
his  wonted  daily  alcoholic  ration,  had  in 
spired  in  Don  Juan  Cafetero  a  revival  of  his 
all  but  defunct  interest  in  life;  conversely,  in  these 
stirring  times,  he  was  sensible  of  an  equally  acute 
interest  in  Sobrantean  politics,  for  he  was  Irish;  and 
flabby  indeed  is  that  son  of  the  Green  Little  Isle  who, 
wherever  he  may  be,  declines  to  take  a  hand  in  any 
public  argument.  For  the  love  of  politics,  like  the 
love  of  home,  is  never  dead  in  the  Irish.  It  is  instinct 
with  them — the  heritage,  perhaps,  of  centuries  of 
oppression  and  suppression,  which  nurtures  rather 
than  stifles  the  yearning  for  place  and  power.  Now 
as  Don  Juan  turned  Leber's  launch  shoreward  and 
kicked  the  motor  wide  open,  he,  too,  descried  against 
the  dawn  the  glare  of  the  burning  cantonments  west 
of  the  city,  and  at  the  sight  his  pulse  beat  high  with 
the  lust  of  battle,  the  longing  to  be  in  at  the  death  in 
this  struggle,  where  the  hopes  and  aspirations  of  those 
he  loved  were  at  stake. 

Two  months  previously  a  revolution  would  have 
been  a  matter  of  extreme  indifference  to  Don  Juan; 
he  would  have  reflected  that  it  was  merely  the  outs 
trying  to  get  in,  and  that  if  they  succeeded,  the  sole 
benefit  to  the  general  public  would  be  the  privilege 

309 


310  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

of  paying  the  bill.  It  was  all  very  well,  perhaps, 
to  appoint  a  new  jefe  politico,  if  only  for  the  sake  of 
diversion,  but  new  or  old  they  "jugged"  or  booted 
Don  Juan  Cafetero  impartially  from  time  to  time; 
the  lowliest  peon  could  shoulder  the  derelict  off  the 
narrow  sidewalks,  while  the  policeman  on  the  beat 
looked  on  and  grinned.  Consequently,  drunk  or 
sober,  Don  Juan  would  not  have  fought  with  or  for 
a  Sobrantean,  since  he  knew  from  experience  that 
either  line  of  activity  was  certain  to  prove  unprofit 
able.  To-day,  however,  in  the  knowledge  that  he 
had  an  opportunity  to  fight  beside  white  men  and 
perchance  even  up  some  old  scores  with  the  Guardia 
Civil,  it  occurred  suddenly  to  Don  Juan  that  it 
would  be  a  brave  and  virtuous  act  to  cast  his  lot 
with  the  Ruey  forces.  He  was  a  being  reorganized 
and  rebuilt,  and  it  behooved  him  to  do  something 
to  demonstrate  his  manhood. 

Don  Juan  knew,  of  course,  that  should  the  rebels 
lose  and  he  be  captured,  he  would  be  executed;  yet 
this  contingency  seemed  a  far-fetched  one,  in  view  of 
the  fact  that  he  had  John  Stuart  Webster  at  his  back, 
ready  to  finance  his  escape  from  the  city.  Also 
Don  Juan  had  had  an  opportunity,  in  the  hills  above 
San  Miguel  de  Padua,  for  a  critical  study  of  Ricardo 
Ruey  and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  at  last  a 
real  man  had  come  to  liberate  Sobrante;  further,  Don 
Juan  had  had  ocular  evidence  that  John  Stuart  Web 
ster  was  connected  with  the  revolution,  for  had  he 
not  smuggled  Ruey  into  the  country?  It  was  some 
thing  to  be  the  right-hand  man  of  the  president  of 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  311 

a  rich  little  country  like  Sobrante;  it  was  also  some 
thing  to  be  as  close  to  that  right-hand  man  as  Don 
Juan  was  to  his  master,  Webster;  consequently 
self-interest  and  his  sporting  code  whispered  to  Don 
Juan  that  it  behooved  him  to  demonstrate  his  loyalty 
with  every  means  at  his  command,  even  unto  his 
heart's  blood. 

"Who  knows,"  he  cogitated  as  the  launch  bore  him 
swiftly  shoreward,  "but  what  I'll  acquit  meself  with 
honour  and  get  a  fine  job  undher  the  new  adminis- 
thration?  'Tis  the  masther's  fight,  I'm  thinkin'; 
then,  be  the  same  token,  'tis  John  Joseph  Cafferty's, 
win,  lose  or  dhraw;  an'  may  the  divil  damn  me  if  I 
fail  him  afther  what  he's  done  for  me.  Sure,  if 
Gineral  Ruey  wins,  a  crook  av  the  masther's  finger 
will  make  me  jefe  politico.  An'  if  he  does — hoo-roo ! 
Hoo-ray!" 

With  his  imagination  still  running  riot,  Don  Juan 
made  the  launch  fast  to  the  little  dock,  down  which 
he  ran  straight  for  the  warehouse,  where  the  Ruey 
mercenaries  were  still  congregated,  busily  wiping  the 
factory-grease  from  the  weapons  which  had  just  been 
distributed  to  them  from  the  packing-cases.  A  sharp 
voice  halted  him,  he  paused,  panting,  to  find  himself 
looking  down  the  long  blue  barrel  of  a  service  pistol. 

"Who  are  you,  and  what  are  you  doing  here?" 
the  man  behind  the  weapon  demanded  brusquely. 

"I'm  Private  John  J.  Cafferty,  the  latest  recruit 
to  the  Ruey  army,"  Don  Juan  answered  composedly. 
"Who  did  ye  think  I  was?  Private  secreth'ry  to 
that  divil  Sarros?  Man,  dear,  lower  that  gun  av 


312  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

yours,  for  God  knows  I'm  nervous  enough  as  it  is. 
Have  ye  somethin'  ye  could  give  me  to  fight  wit,' 
avic?" 

The  man  who  had  challenged  him — a  lank, 
swarthy  individual  from  the  Mexican  border — looked 
him  over  with  twinkling  eyes.  "You'll  do,  Cafferty, 
old-timer,"  he  drawled,  "and  if  you  don't,  you'll  wish 
you  had.  There's  a  man  for  every  rifle  just  now,  but 
I  wouldn't  be  surprised  if  there'd  be  a  right  smart 
more  rifles  than  men  before  a  great  while.  Help 
yourself  to  the  gun  o'  the  first  man  that  goes  down; 
in  the  meantime,  hop  into  that  there  truck  and  keep 
the  cartridge  belt  for  the  machine  guns  full  up. 
You're  just  in  time." 

Without  further  ado  Don  Juan  climbed  into  the 
truck.  A  little  citadel  of  sheet  steel  had  been  built 
around  the  driver's  seat,  with  a  narrow  slit  in  front 
through  which  the  latter  peered  out.  The  body  of 
the  truck  had  been  boxed  in  with  the  same  material 
and  housed  two  machine  guns,  emplaced,  and  a  crew 
of  half  a  dozen  men  crouched  on  the  floor,  busily  en 
gaged  in  loading  the  belts.  Four  motor  bicycles, 
with  sturdy,  specially  built  side-cars  attached,  and 
a  machine  gun  in  each  side-car,  were  waiting  near 
by,  together  with  a  half-dozen  country  carts  loaded 
with  ammunition  cases  and  drawn  by  horses. 

"How  soon  do  we  start?"  Don  Juan  demanded 
anxiously,  as  he  crowded  in  beside  one  of  his  new 
found  comrades. 

"I  believe,"  this  individual  replied  in  the  unmis 
takable  accents  of  an  Oxford  man,  "  that  the  plan  is 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  313 

to  wait  until  five  o'clock;  by  that  time  all  the  govern 
ment  troops  that  can  be  spared  from  the  arsenal 
and  palace  will  have  been  dispatched  to  the  fighting 
now  taking  place  west  of  the  city.  Naturally,  the 
government  forces  aren't  anticipating  an  attack  from 
the  rear,  and  .so  they  will,  in  all  probability,  weaken 
their  base.  I  believe  that  eases  our  task;  certainly 
it  will  save  us  many  men." 

Don  Juan  nodded  his  entire  approval  to  this  shrewd 
plan  of  campaign  and  fell  to  stuffing  cartridges  in  the 
web  belting,  the  while  he  whistled  softly,  unmusically, 
and  with  puffing,  hissing  sounds  between  his  snaggle 
teeth,  until  a  Sobrantean  gentleman  (it  was  Doctor 
Pacheco)  came  out  of  the  warehouse  and  gave  the 
order  to  proceed. 

They  moved  out  silently,  the  Sobrantean  rebels 
falling  into  line  behind  the  auto-truck,  the  motorcycle 
battery,  and  the  transport-carts,  all  of  which  were  in 
charge  of  the  machine  gun  company.  They  marched 
along  the  water-front  for  four  blocks  and  then  turned 
up  a  side  street,  which  happened  to  be  the  Calle  de 
Concordia,  thus  enabling  Mother  Jenks,  who  was 
peering  from  the  doorway  of  El  Buen  Amigo,  to  see 
them  coming. 

"Hah!"  she  muttered.  "  'Enery,  they're  comin'. 
The  worm  is  turnin',  'Enery;  fifteen  years  you've 
wyted  for  vengeance,  my  love,  but  to-d'y  you'll  get 
it." 

She  waddlea  out  into  the  street  and  held  up  her 
hand  in  a  gesture  as  authoritative  and  imperious  as 
that  of  a  traffic  officer.  "Batter-r-ry  'alt!"  she 


314  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

croaked.  She  had  heard  the  late  'Enery  give  that 
command  often  enough  to  have  acquired  the  exact 
inflection  necessary  to  make  an  impression  upon  men 
accustomed  to  obeying  such  a  command  whenever 
given.  Instinctively  the  column  slowed  up;  some 
of  the  Foreign  Legion,  old  coast-artillerists,  no  doubt, 
came  to  a  halt  with  promptness  and  precision;  all 
stared  at  Mother  Jenks. 

"Ow  about  'arf  a  dozen  cases  o*  good  brandy  for 
the  wounded?"  Mother  Jenks  suggested.  "An' 
'ow  about  a  bally  old  woman  for  a  Red  Cross  nurse?  " 

"You're  on,  ma'am,"  the  foreign  leader  replied 
promptly,  and  translated  the  old  lady's  suggestion  to 
Doctor  Pacheco,  who  accepted  gracefully  and  thanked 
Mother  Jenks  in  purest  Castilian.  So  a  detail  of  six 
men  was  told  off  to  carry  the  six  cases  of  brandy  out 
of  El  Buen  Amigo  and  load  them  on  the  ammunition 
carts;  then  Mother  Jenks  crawled  up  into  the  ar 
moured  truck  with  the  machine-gun  crew,  and  the 
column  once  more  took  up  its  line  of  rapid  march. 

The  objective  of  this  unsuspected  force  within  the 
city  was,  as  Ricardo  Ruey  shrewdly  suspected  it 
might  be,  poorly  garrisoned.  Usually  a  force  of 
fully  five  hundred  men  was  stationed  at  the  national 
arsenal,  but  the  sharp,  savage  attack  from  the  west, 
so  sudden  and  unexpected,  had  thrown  Sarros  into 
a  panic  and  left  him  no  time  to  plan  his  defence 
carefully.  His  first  thought  had  been  to  send  all  his 
available  forces  to  support  the  troops  bearing  the 
brunt  of  the  rebel  attack,  and  it  was  tremendously 
important  that  this  should  be  done  very  promptly, 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  315 

in  view  of  the  lack  of  information  concerning  the 
numerical  force  of  the  enemy;  consequently  he  had 
reduced  the  arsenal  force  to  one  hundred  men  and 
retained  only  his  favorite  troop  of  the  Guards  and 
one  company  of  the  Fifteenth  Infantry  to  protect  the 
palace. 

Acting  under  hastily  given  telephonic  orders,  the 
commanding  officer  at  the  cantonment  barracks  had 
detailed  a  few  hundred  men  to  fight  a  rear-guard 
action  while  the  main  army  fell  back  in  good  order 
behind  a  railway  embankment  which  swept  in  a 
wide  arc  around  the  city  and  offered  an  excellent 
substitute  for  breastworks.  This  position  had  scarcely 
been  attained  before  the  furious  advance  of  the  rebels 
drove  in  the  rear  guard,  and  pending  the  capture  of 
the  arsenal,  Ricardo  realized  his  operations  were  at 
an  impasse.  Promptly  he  dug  himself  in,  and  the 
battle  developed  into  a  brisk  affair*  of  give  and  take, 
involving  meagre  losses  to  both  factions  but  an  ap 
palling  wastage  of  ammunition. 

The  arsenal,  a  large,  modern  concrete  building 
with  tremendously  thick  walls  reinforced  by  steel, 
would  have  offered  fairly  good  resistance  to  the 
average  field  .battery.  Surrounding  it  on  all  four 
sides  was  a  reinforced  concrete  wall  thirty  feet  high, 
with  machine-gun  bastions  at  each  corner  and  a  plat 
form  along  the  wall,  inside  and  twenty-five  feet  from 
the  ground,  which  afforded  foot  room  for  infantry 
which  could  use  the  top  five  feet  of  the  wall  for  pro 
tection  while  firing  over  it.  There  was  but  one 
entrance,  a  heavy,  barred  steel  gate  which  was  always 


316  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

kept  locked  when  it  was  not  necessary  to  have  it 
opened  for  ingress  or  egress.  Given  warning  of  an 
attack  and  with  sufficient  time  to  prepare  for  it, 
one  hundred  of  the  right  sort  of  fighting  men  could 
withstand  an  indefinite  siege  by  a  force  not  provided 
with  artillery  heavier  than  an  ordinary  field  gun. 
With  a  full  realization  of  this,  therefore,  Ricardo 
and  his  confreres  had  designed  to  accomplish  by 
strategy  that  which  could  not  be  done  by  the  limited 
forces  at  their  command. 

The  tread  of  marching  men,  the  purr  of  the  motor 
cycles  and  the  armoured  truck,  during  the  progress 
of  the  invaders  up  the  Calle  de  Concordia,  aroused 
the  dwellers  in  that  thoroughfare.  Those  who  ap 
peared  in  their  doorways,  however,  as  promptly 
disappeared  upon  recognizing  this  indubitable  evi 
dence  of  local  disturbance.  As  the  column  ap 
proached  the  neighbourhood  of  the  arsenal,  three 
detachments  broke  away  from  the  main  body  and 
disappeared  down  side  streets,  to  turn  at  right  angles 
later  and  march  parallel  with  the  main  command. 
Each  of  these  detachments  was  accompanied  by  one 
unit  of  the  motorcycle-mounted  machine-gun  bat 
tery  with  its  white  crew;  two  blocks  beyond  the 
arsenal  square  each  detachment  leader  so  disposed 
his  men  as  to  offer  spirited  resistance  to  any  sortie 
that  might  be  made  by  the  troops  from  the  palace 
in  the  hope  of  driving  off  the  attackers  of  the  arsenal. 

Having  thus  provided  for  protection  during  its 
operations,  the  main  body  nominally  under  Doctor 
Pacheco  but  in  reality  commanded  by  the  chief  of  the 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  317 

machine-gun  company,  proceeded  to  operate.  With 
the  utmost  assurance  in  the  world  the  armoured 
truck  rolled  down  the  street  to  the  arsenal  entrance, 
swung  in  and  pointed  its  impudent  nose  straight  at 
the  iron  bars  while  the  hidden  chauffeur  called  loudly 
and  profanely  in  Spanish  upon  the  sentry  to  open 
the  gate  and  let  him  in — that  there  was  necessity 
for  great  hurry,  since  he  had  been  sent  down  from  the 
palace  by  the  presidente  himself,  for  machine  guns  to 
equip  this  armoured  motor-car.  The  sentry  im 
mediately  called  the  officer  of  the  guard,  who  peered 
out,  observed  nothing  but  the  motor-truck,  which 
seemed  far  from  dangerous,  and  without  further  ado 
inserted  a  huge  key  in  the  lock  and  turned  the  bolt. 
The  sentry  swung  the  double  gates  ajar,  and  with  a 
prolonged  and  raucous  toot  of  its  horn  the  big  car 
loafed  in.  The  sentry  closed  the  gate  .again,  while 
the  officer  stepped  up  to  turn  the  key  in  the  lock. 
Instead,  he  died  with  half  a  dozen  pistol  bullets 
through  his  body,  while  the  sentry  sprawled  beside 
him. 

The  prolonged  toot  of  the  motor-horn  had  been 
the  signal  agreed  upon  to  apprise  the  detachment 
waiting  in  a  secluded  back  street  that  the  truck  was 
inside  the  arsenal  wall.  With  a  yell  they  swept 

i  out  of  the  side  street  and  down  on  the  gate,  through 
which  they  poured  into  the  arsenal  grounds.  At 
sound  of  the  first  shot  at  the  gate,  the  comandante 

I  of  the  garrison,  which  had  been  drawn  up  in  double 
rank  for  reveille  roll  call,  realized  he  was  attacked 
and  that  swift  measures  were  necessary.  Fortu- 


318  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

nately  for  him,  his  men  were  standing  at  attention 
at  the  time,  preparatory  to  receiving  from  him  one  of 
those  ante-battle  exhortations  so  dear  to  the  Latin 
soul. 

A  sharp  command,  and  the  little  garrison  had 
fixed  bayonets;  another  command,  and  they  were 
in  line  of  squads;  before  the  auto-truck  could  be 
swung  sideways  to  permit  a  machine  gun  to  play  on 
the  Sobranteans  in  close  formation,  the  latter  had 
thrown  out  a  skirmish  line  and  were  charging;,  while 
from  the  guardhouse  window,  just  inside  the  gate, 
a  volley,  poured  into  the  unprotected  rear  of  the 
truck  following  its  passage  through  the  gate,  did 
deadly  execution.  The  driver,  a  bullet  through  his 
back,  sagged  forward  into  his  steel-clad  citadel;  both 
machine-gun  operators  were  wounded,  and  the  truck 
was  stalled.  The  situation  was  desperate. 

"I'm  a  gone  goose,"  mourned  Don  Juan  Cafetero, 
and  he  leaped  from  the  shambles  to  the  ground,  with 
some  hazy  notion  of  making  his  escape  through  the 
gate.  He  was  too  late.  Two  men,  riding  tandem 
on  a  motorcycle  with  a  machine  gun  in  the  specially 
constructed  side-car,  appeared  in  the  entrance  and 
leaped  off;  almost  before  Don  Juan  had  time  to 
dodge  behind  the  motor-truck  to  escape  possible 
wild  bullets,  the  machine  gun  was  sweeping  the  on 
coming  skirmish  line.  Don  Juan  cheered  as  man 
after  man  of  the  garrison  pitched  on  his  face,  for  the 
odds  were  rapidly  being  evened  now,  greatly  to  the 
pleasure  of  the  men  charging  through  the  gate  to 
support  the  machine  gun.  Out  into  the  arsenal 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  319 

yard  they  swept,  forcing  the  machine-gun  crew  to 
cease  firing  because  of  the  danger  of  killing  their  own 
men ;  with  a  shock  bayonet  met  bayonet  in  the  centre 
of  the  yard,  and  the  issue  was  up  for  prompt  and 
final  decision. 

Don  Juan's  Hibernian  blood  thrilled;  he  cast  about 
for  a  weapon  in  this  emergency,  and  his  glance  rested 
on  the  body  of  the  dead  officer  beside  the  gate.  To 
possess  himself  of  the  latter's  heavy  "cut-and- 
thrust"  sword  was  the  work  of  seconds,  and  with  a 
royal  good  will  Don  Juan  launched  himself  into  the 
heart  of  the  scrimmage.  He  had  a  hazy  impression 
that  he  was  striking  and  stabbing,  that  others  were 
striking  and  stabbing  at  him,  that  men  crowded 
and  breathed  and  pressed  and  swore  and  grunted 
around  him,  that  the  fighting-room  was  no  better 
than  it  might  have  been  but  was  rapidly  improving. 
Then  the  gory  fog  lifted,  and  Doctor  Pacheco  had 
Don  Juan  by  the  hand;  they  stood  together  in  the 
arsenal  entrance,  and  the  little  Doctor  was  explaining 
to  the  war-mad  Don  Juan  that  all  was  over  in  so  far 
as  the  arsenal  was  concerned — the  survivors  of  the 
garrison  having  surrendered — that  now,  having  the 
opportunity,  he,  Doctor  Pacheco,  desired  to  thank 
Don  Juan  Cafetero  for  his  life.  Don  Juan  looked  at 
him  amazedly,  for  he  hadn't  the  slightest  idea  what 
the  Doctor  was  talking  about.  He  spat,  gazed 
around  at  the  litter  of  corpses  on  the  arsenal  lawn, 
and  nodded  his  red  head  approvingly. 

In  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  the  news  that 
the  arsenal  had  been  captured  and  that  Sarros  was 


320  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

besieged  in  the  palace  spread  through  the  city.  The 
sight  of  the  red  banner  of  revolution  floating  over 
the  arsenal  for  the  first  time  in  fifteen  years  brought 
hundreds  of  willing  recruits  to  the  rebel  ranks,  as 
Ricardo  Ruey  had  anticipated;  these  were  quickly 
supplied  with  arms  and  ammunition;  by  ten  o'clock 
a  battalion  had  been  formed  and  sent  off,  together 
with  the  machine-gun  company,  to  connect  with  the 
San  Bruno  contingent  advancing  from  the  south  to 
turn  the  flank  of  the  government  troops,  while  the 
equipping  of  an  additional  battalion  proceeded  within 
the.  arsenal.  As  fast  as  the  new  levies  were  armed, 
they  were  hurried  off  to  reinforce  the  'handful  of 
white  men  who  had,  after  clearing  the  arsenal, 
advanced  on  the  palace  and  now,  with  machine  guns 
from  the  arsenal  commanding  all  avenues  of  escape 
from  the  trap  wherein  Sarros  found  himself,  were 
calmly  awaiting  developments,  merely  keeping  an  eye 
open  for  snipers. 

Thus  the  forenoon  passed  away.  By  one  o'clock 
Don  Juan  Cafetero — who  in  the  absence  of  close- 
range  fighting  had  elected  himself  ordnance  sergeant 
— passed  out  the  last  rifle  and  ammunition.  He  was 
red  with  slaughter,  slippery  with  gun-grease,  dripping 
with  perspiration  and  filthy  with  dust  and  dirt. 
"Begorra,"  he  declared,  "a  cowld  bottle  av  beer 
would  go  fine  now."  Then,  recalling  his  limitations, 
he  sighed  and  put  the  thought  from  him.  It  revived 
in  him,  however,  for  the  first  time  since  he  had  left 
the  steamer,  a  memory  of  John  Stuart  Webster,  and 
his  promise  to  the  latter  to  report  on  the  progress 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

of  the  war.  So  Don  Juan  sought  Doctor  Pacheco 
in  his  headquarters  and  learned  that  a  signal-man, 
heliographing  from  the  roof  of  the  arsenal,  had  been 
in  communication  with  General  Ruey,  who  reported 
the  situation  well  in  hand,  with  no  doubt  of  an  over 
whelming  victory  before  the  day  should  be  over. 
This  and  sundry  other  bits  of  information  Don  Juan 
gleaned  and  then  deserted  the  Sobrantean  revolu 
tionary  army  quite  as  casually  as  he  had  joined  it,  to 
make  his  precarious  way  down  the  Calle  San  Rosario 
to  the  bay. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FIVE 

THROUGHOUT  the  forenoon  Webster  and 
Dolores,  from  the  deck  of  the  steamer,  watched 
v  ^the  city.  Numerous  fires  covered  it  with  a 
pall  of  smoke  from  beneath  which  came  the  steady 
crackle  of  machine-gun  fire,  mingled  with  the  insist 
ent  crash  of  the  field  batteries  which  seemingly  had 
moved  up  closer  to  their  target. 

By  ten  o'clock  the  sounds  of  battle  had  swelled  to 
a  deeper,  steadier  roar,  and  refugees  arriving  brought 
various  and  fragmentary  stories  of  the  fighting. 
From  this  hodge-podge  of  misinformation,  however, 
Webster  decided  that  Ricardo's  troops  were  forcing 
the  issue  with  vim  and  determination,  and  since 
the  most  furious  fighting  was  now  well  in  toward  the 
heart  of  the  city,  it  seemed  reasonable  to  presume  the 
struggle  was  for  possession  of  the  arsenal  and  palace. 

At  noon  the  deep  diapason  of  conflict  began  to 
slacken;  by  one  o'clock  it  had  dwindled  considerably, 
and  at  two  o'clock  Webster,  gazing  anxiously  city 
ward,  observed  Leber's  launch  coming  rapidly  out 
from  shore.  At  the  wheel  stood  Don  Juan  Cafetero; 
as  the  launch  shot  in  under  the  vessel's  side  he  looked 
up,  searching  for  Webster's  face  among  the  curious 
throng  that  lined  the  rail. 

"  Faugh-a-ballagh ! "  he  shrieked.     "  We've  got  the 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  323 

divils  cornered  now.  'Twill  be  over  two  hours 
hince." 

"Who  has  won?"  a  voice  called,  and  another, 
evidently  a  humourist  and  a  shrewd  judge  of  human 
nature,  replied:  "Why  ask  foolish  questions?  The 
rebels,  of  course.  That  fellow's  Irish  and  the  Irish 
are  born  rebels.  Look  at  the  scoundrel.  He's 
black  with  gun-grease  and  burned  powder  where  he 
isn't  red  with  blood.  The  butcher!" 

Don  Juan  tied  up  the  launch  at  the  gangway  and 
leaped  up  the  ladder,  three  steps  at  a  time.  "  Glory 
be  to  God,"  he  panted  and  hurled  himself  into  Web 
ster's  arms.  "I  was  in  it!  I  was.  I  got  back  in 
time  to  catch  up  wit'  the  lads  at  the  warehouse  an' 
they  were  the  fine,  fightin'  divils,  I'll  gamble  you. 
Och,  'twas  a  grrand  bit  av  a  fight — whilst  it  lasted. 
They  put  me  in  the  motor-thruck,  loadin'  the  belts 
wit'  ca'tridges  as  fast  as  the  gunners  imptied  thim, 
but  faith  they  couldn't  keep  me  there.  I  got  into 
the  heart  av  the  scrimmage  in  the  yard  av  the  arsenal 
an'  faith  'twas  well  for  that  little  Docthor  Pacheco 
I  did.  *Twas  wurrk  to  me  likin*.  I'd  a  ma 
chete " 

"You  bloodthirsty  scoundrel!"  Webster  shook  the 
war-mad  son  of  Erin.  "I  told  you  not  to  mix  in  it, 
but  to  hang  around  on  the  fringe  of  the  fight,  and 
bring  us  early  news.  Suppose  you'd  been  killed? 
Who  would  have  come  for  us  then?  Didn't  I  tell 
you  we  had  a  dinner  engagement  in  the  palace?" 

"Me  on  the  fringes  av  a  fight,"  sputtered  Don 
Juan,  amazed  and  outraged.  "Take  shame  for  yer- 


324  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

self,  sor.  There  was  niver  the  likes  av  me  hung 
around  the  fringes  av  a  fight,  an'  well  ye  know  it." 

"I'm  amazed  that  you  even  remembered  your  in 
structions,"  Webster  rasped  at  him. 

"Sure,  <eur  division  had  cl'aned  up  nicely  an'  I 
had  nothin'  else  to  do,  God  bless  ye.  They  were 
besiegin'  the  palace  whin  I  left,  an'  small  chance  av 
takin'  it  for  a  couple  av  hours;  what  fightin*  there 
was  on  the  outside  was  shtreet  shootin' — an'  not  to 
me  likin'." 

"Is  it  quite  safe  to  bring  Miss  Ruey  ashore, 
John?" 

"'Tis  safe  enough  at  the  Hotel  Mateo.  We  have 
the  city  for  half  a  mile  beyant,  in  the  rear  av  them — 
an'  they're  not  fightin'  to  get  to  the  bay.  The 
Guards  an'  some  av  the  Fifteenth  Inf anthry  regimint 
are  in  the  palace  an'  the  cuartel  close  by,  an'  thim 
that  we  failed  to  get  in  the  arsenal  have  j'ined  thim. 
But  the  bulk  av  the  Sarros  army  is  thryin'  to  break 
t'rough  to  the  south  an'  west,  to  get  to  the  hills. 
D'ye  mind  the  spur  thrack  that  runs  in  a  semi-cirrcle 
around  the  city?  Well,  thin,  the  rebels  are  behint 
the  einbankmint,  takin'  it  aisy.  Have  no  worry, 
sor.  Whin  we've  took  the  palace  we'll  move  on  an' 
dhrive  the  vagabones  from  behint  up  to  that  railroad 
embankmint,  where  Gineral  Ruey  can  bid  them  the 
time  av  day." 

Webster  turned  to  Dolores.  Do  you  wish  to  go 
ashore?" 

She  nodded,  her  flashing  eyes  bent  in  admiration 
upon  the  gory,  grimy  Don  Juan  Cafetero,  for  she  was 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  325 

half  Irish,  and  in  that  amazing  meeting  she  knew  the 
outcast  for  one  of  her  blood.  "I  think  my  brother 
will  sleep  in  his  father's  old  room  to-night,"  she  mur 
mured  softly.  "And  I  would  sleep  in  mine." 

They  followed  Don  Juan  down  the  gangway  to 
the  launch  and  sped  back  to  the  city.  The  door  of 
Leber's  warehouse  stood  wide  open;  within  was  a 
litter  of  greasy  rags  and  broken  packing  cases,  with 
Leber,  quite  mystified,  sitting  on  a  keg  of  nails  and 
staring  curiously  at  it  all. 

Guided  by  Don  Juan  Cafetero,  Webster  and 
Dolores  passed  on  up  the  Calle  San  Rosario.  Occa 
sionally  a  bullet,  fired  two  or  three  miles  to  the 
west,  droned  lazily  overhead  or  dropped l  with  a 
sharp  metallic  sound  on  the  corrugated-iron  roofs  of 
a  building.  At  the  hotel  the  proprietor  alone  was  in 
evidence,  seated  behind  the  desk  smoking  in  pro 
found  indifference. 

In  response  to  Webster's  eager  inquiries  for  the 
latest  news  from  the  front,  the  placid  fellow  shrugged 
and  murmured:  "Quien  sabe  ?"  Evidently  for  him 
such  stirring  scenes  had  long  since  lost  their  novelty; 
the  bloom  was  off  the  peach,  as  it  were. 

Webster  went  upstairs  and  helped  himself  to  an 
other  automatic  and  several  spare  clips  of  shells 
which  he  had  left  in  his  trunk.  On  his  return  to  the 
lobby,  Dolores  saw  what  a  very  near  sighted  person, 
indeed,  would  have  seen — to  wit:  that  he  was  not 
pleased  to  remain  in  the  hotel  and  with  the  spirit  of 
adventure  strong  within  him  was  desirous  of  pro 
gressing  still  farther  toward  the  firing,  in  the  hope 


326  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

of  eliciting  some  favourable  news  as  to  the  progress 
of  the  fight.  She  realized,  however,  that  he  would 
do  his  duty  and  remain  with  her  in  the  hotel;  so  she 
said  gaily: 

"Suppose  we  walk  out  a  little  farther,  Caliph. 
Many  of  the  side  streets  will  be  as  safe  and  peaceful 
as  one  could  desire,  and  if  warfare  should  develop  in 
our  vicinity  we  can  step  into  some  house." 

"I  do  not  like  to  have  you  run  the  slightest 

risk "  he  began,  but  she  pooh-poohed  him  into 

silence,  took  him  by  the  arm  with  a  great  air  of 
camaraderie,  and  declared  they  should  go  forth  to 
adventure — but  cautiously. 

Webster  glanced  at  Don  Juan.  "We  can  go  a 
half  or  three  quarters  av  a  mile  out  the  Calle  San 
Rosario,  sor,"  the  Irishman  answered.  "After  that 
'twill  not  be  a  pleasant  sight  for  the  young  leddy — 
an'  there  may  be  some  shootin'.  Squads  av  the  gov- 
ernmint  throops  took  refuge  in  the  houses  an'  took 
to  snipin*.  'Twill  be  shlow  wurrk  roundin'  the  last 
av  thim  up.  Even  afther  the  fight  is  over,  there'll 
be  scatterin'  shootin'  scrapes  all  av  the  night  long, 
I'm  thinkin'." 

"At  the  slightest  danger  we'll  turn  back,"  Web 
ster  announced,  and  with  Don  Juan  Cafetero  scout 
ing  the  way  a  block  in  advance  they  progressed  slowly 
toward  the  centre  of  the  disturbance. 

Soon  they  passed  a  horse  dead  in  the  middle  of  the 
street;  a  little  farther  on  one  of  the  machine-gun 
company,  a  lank  Texan,  sat  on  the  curb  rolling  a 
cigarette  with  his  left  hand.  He  had  a  bullet  through 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  327 

his  right  shoulder  and  another  through  the  calf  of 
his  left  leg  and  had  received  no  first  aid  attention; 
the  flies  were  bothering  him  considerably  and  he  was 
cursing  softly  and  fluently,  like  the  ex-mule-skinner 
he  was. 

Farther  on  another  white  invader  lay  face  down 
in  the  gutter;  for  him  the  fight  had  ended  almost  ere 
it  had  begun.  In  the  next  block  half  a  dozen  sandal- 
footed  Sobranteans,  in  the  blue  and  red-trimmed 
uniform  of  the  Guardia  Civil,  lay  spawled  in  uncouth 
attitudes,  where  the  first  blast  of  a  machine  gun 
had  caught  them  as  they  rushed  out  of  the  police 
station  to  repel  the  advancing  mercenaries. 

Seeing  that  the  main  street  of  the  city  would  as 
sume  even  a  more  grisly  aspect  the  longer  they  fol 
lowed  it,  Don  Juan  led  Webster  and  Dolores  a 
couple  of  blocks  down  a  cross-street  and  turned  out 
into  the  Calle  de  Hernandez,  parallel  to  the  Calle  San 
Rosario.  There  had  been  no  shooting  in  this  street, 
apparently;  as  they  proceeded  not  even  a  stray  bullet 
whined  down  the  silent  calle. 

Four  blocks  from  the  government  palace,  however, 
they  found  the  narrow  sidewalks  of  this  quiet  street 
lined  with  wounded  from  both  sides,  with  a  doctor 
and  half  a  dozen  of  Ricardo's  hired  fighters  minister 
ing  to  them;  as  they  threaded  their  way  between  the 
recumbent  figures  they  came  upon  Mother  Jenks, 
brandy  bottle  and  glass  in  hand,  "doing  her  bit." 

"Hah!  So  here  you  are,  my  lamb,"  she  greeted 
Dolores.  "Right-o.  Just  where  yer  ought  to  be, 
Gor*  bless  yer  sweet  face.  Let  these  poor  misfor- 


328  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

tunate  lads  see  that  the  sister  o'  the  new  president 
ain't  too  proud  to  care  for  'em.  'Ere,  lass.  'Old 
up  the  'ead  o'  this  young  cockerel  with  the  'ole  in  'is 
neck.  'Ere,  lad.  Tyke  a  brace  now!  'Ere's  some 
o'  your  own  people,  not  a  lot  o'  bloomin'  yeller- 
bellies,  come  to  put  something  else  in  yer  neck — 
somethink  that'll  stimulate  yer  " 

The  "young  cockerel,"  a  blond  youth  of  scarce 
twenty  summers,  twisted  his  head  and  grinned  up  at 
Dolores  as  she  knelt  beside  him  to  lift  him  up. 
"Here,  here,  sister,"  he  mumbled,  "you'll  get  that 
white  dress  dirty.  Never  mind  me.  It's  just  a  flesh 
wound,  only  my  neck  has  got  stiff  and  I'm  weak  from 
loss  of  blood." 

Mother  Jenks  winked  at  Webster  as  she  set  a  glass 
of  brandy  to  the  stricken  adventurer's  lips.  "Give 
me  a  bit  o'  the  white  meat,  as  my  sainted  'Enery  used 
to  s'y,"  she  murmured  comically. 

Dolores  looked  up  at  Webster.  "I'll  stay  here," 
she  said  simply.  "I've  found  a  job  helping  Mother 
Jenks.  You  and  Don  Juan  may  run  along  if  you 
wish.  I  know  you're  as  curious  as  children." 

They  were.  It  would  have  been  impossible  for  any 
man  with  red  corpuscles  in  his  blood  to  harken  to  the 
shooting  and  shouts  only  three  city  blocks  distant 
without  yearning  to  see  the  fight  itself. 

"I'll  return  in  fifteen  minutes,  at  the  latest,"  he 
promised  her,  and  with  Don  Juan  Cafetero,  who  had 
helped  himself  to  a  rifle  and  bayonet  from  one  of  the 
wounded,  he  turned  the  corner  into  the  next  street 
and  started  back  toward  the  Calle  San  Rosario, 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  329 

which  they  followed  west  through  a  block  plentifully 
sprinkled  with  the  dead  of  both  factions. 

Don  Juan  led  the  way  through  an  alley  in  the  rear 
of  the  Catedral  de  la  Santa  Cruz  to  the  door  of  the 
sacristy;  as  he  placed  his  hand  on  the  latch  three 
rifle  bullets  struck  around  them,  showering  them  with 
fragments  of  falling  adobe. 

"There's  a  house  party  in  the  neighbourhood," 
yelled  Don  Juan  and  darted  into  the  church,  with 
Webster  at  his  heels,  just  in  time  to  escape  another 
fusillade.  They  walked  through  the  sacristy  and 
passed  through  a  door  into  the  great  cathedral,  with 
its  high,  carved,  Gothic-arched  ceiling.  Through  the 
thick  closed  doors  of  the  main  entrance,  lost  in 
the  dimness  of  space  out  in  front,  the  sounds  of  the 
battle  half  a  block  away  seemed  very  distant,  indeed. 

They  passed  the  altar  and  Don  Juan  genuflected 
and  crossed  himself  reverently.  "I'll  be  afther 
makin'  me  confession,"  he  whispered  to  Webster. 
"Wait  for  me,  sor." 

He  leaned  his  rifle  against  the  altar  railing,  crossed 
the  church  and  touched  lightly  on  the  shoulder  a 
monk  kneeling  in  prayer  before  the  altar  of  the  Vir 
gin;  the  latter  bent  his  head  while  Don  Juan  whis 
pered;  then  he  rose  and  both  went  into  the  confes 
sional,  while  Webster  found  a  bench  along  the  wall 
and  waited. 

Presently  Don  Juan  came  forth,  knelt  on  the  red- 
tiled  floor  and  prayed — something,  Webster  sus 
pected,  he  had  not  done  for  quite  a  while.  And  when 
he  had  finished  his  supplication  and  procured  his 


330  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

rifle,  Webster  joined  him,  the  monk  unbolted  the  door 
and  from  the  quiet  of  the  house  of  God  they  passed 
out  into  the  street  and  the  tumult  of  hell. 

"I've  been  clost  to  death  this  day,"  Don  Juan 
explained,  "an'  the  day  is  not  done.  Be  the  same 
token,  'tis  long  since  I'd  made  me  last  confession; 
sure,  until  you  picked  me  out  av  the  mire,  sor,  'tis 
little  thought  I  had  for  the  hereafter." 

They  were  standing  on  the  steps  t)f  the  cathedral 
as  Don  Juan  spoke,  and  from  their  place  they  could 
see  a  dozen  or  more  of  Ricardo  s  hired  fighters 
crouched  under  the  shelter  of  the  palace  walls  across 
the  street.  "I  think  we'll  be  safer  there,"  Webster 
cried,  as  a  couple  of  bullets  struck  the  stone  steps 
at  their  feet  and  ricocheted  against  the  cathedral 
door.  "That  rifle  of  yours  is  making  you  a  marked 
man,  Don  Juan." 

They  ran  across  the  street  and  joined  the  men 
under  the  palace  wall. 

"What's  this?"  Don  Juan  demanded  briskly. 
"Have  ye  not  shmoked  thim  out  yet?" 

"Noddings  doing,"  a  young  German  answered. 
"Der  chief  has  sent  word  dot  we  shall  npt  artillery 
use  on  der  balace.  Men  all  aroundt  it  we  haf,  mit 
a  machine  gun  commanding  each  gate;  most  of  der 
poys  have  chust  moved  out  west  in  der  rear  of  der 
government  troops." 

"Then,"  Don  Juan  declared  with  conviction, 
"there'll  be  no  fighting  here  to  speak  av,  until  later." 

"Der  is  blenty  of  choy  hunting  snipers,  mein 
freund.  Der  houses  hereabouts  vos  filled  mit  dem." 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  331 

"I'll  have  no  cat  fights  in  mine,"  Don  Juan  re 
torted.  "Come  wit'  me,  sor,  an'  we'll  be  in  at  the 
death  out  bey  ant  at  the  railroad  embankmint." 

"Too  late,"  Webster  answered,  for  on  the  instant 
to  the  west  the  crackle  of  rifle  and  machine-gun  fire 
interluded  with  the  staccato  barks  of  a  Maxim- 
Vickers  broke  out,  swelling  almost  immediately  to  a 
steady  outpouring  of  sound.  "  We'll  stay  here  where 
we're  safe  for  the  finals.  When  General  Ruey  has 
cleaned  up  out  there  he'll  come  here  to  take  com 
mand." 

For  half  an  hour  the  sounds  of  a  brisk  engagement 
to  the  west  did  not  slacken;  then  with  disconcert 
ing  suddenness  the  uproar  died  away  fully  50  per 
cent. 

"They're  going  in  with  the  bayonet  and  ma 
chetes,"  somebody  who  knew  remarked  laconically. 
"Wait  and  you'll  hear  the  cheering." 

They  waited  fully  ten  minutes,  but  presently, 
as  the  firing  gradually  died  away,  they  heard  it,  faint 
and  indistinguishable  at  first,  but  gradually  coming 
nearer.  And  presently  the  trapped  men  in  the  palace 
heard  it,  too.  "Viva  Ruey!  Viva!  Viva  Ruey!" 

"All  over  but  the  shouting,"  Don  Juan  remarked 
disgustedly.  "  The  lads  in  the  palace  will  surrindher 
now.  Sure  Gineral  Ruey  was  right  afther  all.  For 
why  should  he  shoot  holes  in  the  house  he's  goin'  to 
live  in,  an'  where,  be  the  same  token,  he  gives  a  dinner 
party  this  night?" 

"I'm  glad  the  end  is  in  sight,"  Webster  replied. 
"We  have  no  interest  in  this  revolution,  John,  and 


332  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

it  isn't  up  to  us  to  horn  in  on  the  play;  yet  if  it  went 
against  the  Ruey  faction,  I  fear  we'd  be  forced  into 
active  service  in  spite  of  ourselves.  There  is  such  a 
thing  as  fighting  to  save  one's  skin,  you  know." 

Don  Juan  laughed  pleasurably.  "What  a  shame 
we  missed  the  row  out  beyant  at  the  railroad  em- 
bankmint,"  he  declared. 

"I  wish  you'd  kept  out  of  it,  Don  Juan.  What 
business  had  you  in  the  fight  at  the  cuartd  ?  Sup 
pose  you'd  been  killed?" 

"Small  loss!"  Don  Juan  retorted. 

"I  should  have  mourned  you  nevertheless,  John." 

"Would  you  that  same?"  Don  Juan's  buttermilk 
eyes  lighted  with  affection  and  pleasure.  "Would 
it  put  a  pang  in  the  heart  of  you,  sor,  to  see  me 
stretched?" 

"Yes,  it  would,  John.  You're  a  wild,  impulsive, 
lunatic,  worthless  Irishman,  but  there's  a  broad  vein 
of  pay-ore  in  you,  and  I  want  you  to  live  until  I  can 
develop  it.  When  Mr.  Geary  returns  to  operate  the 
mine,  he'll  need  a  foreman  he  can  trust." 

"And  do  you  trust  me,  sor?" 

"I  do  indeed,  John.  By  the  way,  you  never  gave 
me  your  word  of  honour  to  cut  out  red  liquor  for 
keeps.  Up  till  to-day  I've  had  to  watch  you — and  I 
don't  want  to  do  that.  It  isn't  dignified  for  either  of 
us,  and  from  to-day  on  you  must  be  a  man  or  a 
mouse.  If  you  prove  yourself  a  man,  I  want  you  in 
my  business;  if  you  prove  yourself  a  mouse,  some 
body  else  may  have  you.  How  about  you,  John? 
The  cantinas  will  be  open  to-night,  and  firewater  will 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  333 

be  free  to  the  soldiers  of  the  new  republic.     Must  I 
watch  you  to-night?" 

Don  Juan  shook  his  reckless  red  head.  "I'll 
never  let  a  drop  of  liquor  cross  my  lips  without  your 
permission,  sor,"  he  promised  simply.  "I  am  the 
man  and  you  are  the  master." 

"We'll  shake  hands  on  that!"  After  the  western 
habit  of  validating  all  verbal  agreements  with  a 
handshake,  Webster  thrust  his  hard  hand  out  to  his 
man,  who  took  it  in  both  of  his  and  held  it  for  half  a 
minute.  He  wanted  to  speak,  but  couldn't;  he  could 
only  bow  his  head  as  his  eyes  clouded  with  the  tears 
of  his  appreciation.  "  Ah,  sor,"  he  blurted  presently, 
"I'd  die  for  ye  an'  welcome  the  chanst." 

A  wild  yell  of  alarm  broke  out  in  the  next  block, 
at  the  north  gate  of  the  palace;  there  was  a  sudden 
flurry  of  rifle  fire  and  cries  of  "  Here  they  come!  Stop 
them !  Stop  them !  They're  breaking  out ! ' ' 

Without  awaiting  orders  the  hired  fighters  along 
the  wall — some  fifteen  of  them — leaped  out  into  the 
street,  forming  a  skirmish  line,  just  as  a  troop  of  cav 
alry,  with  drawn  sabres,  swept  around  the  corner 
and  charged  upon  the  devoted  little  line.  "Sarros 
must  be  thryin'  to  make  his  get-away,"  Don  Juan 
Cafetero  remarked  coolly,  and  emptied  a  saddle. 
"  They  threw  open  the  big  palace  gate,  an'  the  Guards 
are  clearin'  a  way  for  him  to  the  bay."  He  emptied 
another  saddle. 

In  the  meantime  Ricardo's  fire-eaters  had  not 
been  idle.  The  instant  the  Guards  turned  into  the 
street  a  deadly  magazine  fire  had  been  opened  on 


334  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

them.  They  had  already  suffered  heavily  winning 
through  the  gate  and  past  the  besiegers  in  front  of  it, 
but  once  they  turned  the  corner  into  the  next  street 
they  had  the  fire  of  but  a  handful  of  men  to  contend 
with.  Nevertheless  it  was  sufficiently  deadly.  Many 
of  the  horses  in  the  front  rank  went  down  with  their 
riders,  forcing  the  maddened  animals  behind  to  clear 
their  carcasses  by  leaping  over  them,  which  some  did. 
Many,  however,  tripped  and  stumbled  in  their  wild 
gallop,  spilling  their  riders. 

"Stay  by  the  wall,  you  madman,"  Webster  or 
dered.  "There'll  be  enough  left  to  ride  down  those 
men  in  the  street  and  sabre  them!" 

And  there  were!  They  died  to  a  man,  and  the 
sadly  depleted  troop  of  Guards  galloped  on,  leaving 
Don  Juan  and  Webster  unscathed  on  the  sidewalk, 
the  only  two  living  men  unhurt  in  that  shambles. 

Not  for  long,  however,  did  they  have  the  street  to 
themselves.  Around  the  corner  of  the  palace  wall  a 
limousine,  with  the  curtains  drawn,  swung  on  two 
wheels,  skidded,  struck  the  carcass  of  a  horse  and 
turned  over,  catapulting  the  chauffeur  into  the  middle 
of  the  street. 

"Sarros!"  shrieked  Don  Juan  and  ran  to  the  over 
turned  vehicle.  It  was  quite  empty. 

"Bully  boy,  Senor  Sarros,"  Webster  laughed. 
"He's  turned  a  pretty  trick,  hasn't  he?  Sent  his 
Guards  out  to  hack  a  pathway  for  an  empty  limou 
sine!  That  means  he's  hoping  to  draw  the  watchers 
from  the  other  gate!" 

But  Don  Juan  Cafetero  was  not  listening;  he  was 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  335 

running  at  top  speed  for  the  south  gate  of  the  palace 
grounds — and  Webster  followed. 

As  they  swung  into  the  street  upon  which  this 
south  gate  opened,  Webster  saw  that  it  was  deserted 
of  all  save  the  dead,jfor  Sarros's  clever  ruse  had  worked 
well  and  had  had  the  effect  of  arousing  the  curiosity 
of  his  enemies  as  to  the  cause  of  the  uproar  at  the 
north  gate,  in  consequence  of  which  they  had  all 
scurried  around  the  block  to  see  what  they  could  see, 
thus  according  Sarros  the  thing  he  desired  most — a 
fighting  chance  and  a  half  minute  to  get  through  the 
gate  and  headed  for  the  steamship  landing  without 
interference. 

Webster  and  Don  Juan  came  abreast  the  high, 
barred  gate  in  the  thick,  twenty-foot  masonry  wall 
as  the  barrier  swung  back  and  a  man,  in  civilian 
clothes,  thundered  through  on  a  magnificent  bay 
thoroughbred. 

"That's  him.  Shtop  the  divil!"  screamed  Don 
Juan.  "They'll  do  the  decent  thing  be  me  if  I 
take  him  alive." 

To  Webster,  who  had  acquired  the  art  of  snap 
shooting  while  killing  time  in  many  a  lonely  camp, 
the  bay  charger  offered  an  easy  mark.  "Hate  to 
down  that  beautiful  animal,"  he  remarked — and 
pulled  away. 

The  horse  leaped  into  the  air  and  came  down  stiff- 
legged;  Sarros  spurred  it  cruelly,  and  the  gallant 
beast  strove  to  gather  itself  into  its  stride,  staggered 
and  sank  to  its  knees,  as  with  a  wild  Irish  yell  Don 
Juan  Cafetero  reached  the  dictator's  side. 


336  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Sarros  drew  a  revolver,  but  before  he  could  use  it 
Don  Juan  tapped  him  smartly  over  the  head  with  his 
rifle  barrel,  and  the  man  toppled  inertly  to  the  ground 
beside  his  dying  horse. 

"More  power  to  ye,  sor,"  Don  Juan  called  cheerily 
and  turned  to  receive  Webster's  approval. 

What  he  saw  paralyzed  him  for  an  instant.  Web 
ster  was  standing  beside  the  gate,  firing  into  a  dozen 
of  Sarros 's  soldiery  who  were  pouring  out  of  a  house 
just  across  the  street,  where  for  an  hour  they  had 
crouched  unseen  and  unheard  by  the  Ruey  men  at 
the  gate.  They  were  practically  out  of  ammunition 
and  had  merely  been  awaiting  a  favourable  opportu 
nity  to  escape  before  the  rebels  should  enter  the  city 
in  force  and  the  house-to-house  search  for  snipers 
should  begin.  They  had  been  about  to  emerge  and 
beat  a  hasty  retreat,  when  Sarros  rode  out  at  the 
gate,  and  with  a  rush  they  followed,  gaining  the  side 
walk  in  time  to  be  witnesses  to  the  dictator's  down 
fall. 

For  a  moment  they  had  paused,  huddled  on  the 
sidewalk  behind  their  officer,  who,  turning  to  scout 
the  street  up  and  down,  beheld  John  Stuart  Webster 
standing  by  the  gate  with  an  automatic  in  his  hand. 
At  the  same  instant  Webster's  attention  had  been 
attracted  to  the  little  band  on  the  sidewalk;  in  their 
leader  he  recognized  no  less  a  personage  than  his  late 
acquaintance,  the  fire-eating  Captain  Jose  Benavides. 
Coincidently  Benavides  recognized  Webster. 

It  was  an  awkward  situation.  Webster  realized 
the  issue  was  about  to  be  decided,  that  if  he  would 


Webster  planted  a  bullet  in  Benavides's  abdomen  with  his  first 
shot,  and  blew  out  the  duelist's  brains  with  his  second 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  337 

have  it  in  his  favour,  he  should  waste  not  one  split- 
second  before  killing  the  mercurial  Benavides  as  the 
latter  stood  staring  at  him.  It  was  not  a  question, 
now,  of  who  should  beat  the  other  to  the  draw,  for 
each  had  already  filled  his  hand.  It  was  a  question, 
rather,  as  to  who  should  recover  first  from  his  aston 
ishment.  If  Benavides  decided  to  let  bygones  be 
bygones  and  retreat  without  firing  a  shot,  then  Web 
ster  was  quite  willing  to  permit  him  to  pass  unmo 
lested;  indeed,  such  was  his  aversion  to  shooting  any 
man,  so  earnestly  did  he  hope  the  Sobrantean  would 
consider  that  discretion  was  the  better  part  of  valour, 
that  he  resolved  to  inculcate  that  idea  in  the  Hot 
spur. 

"Captain  Benavides,"  he  said  suavely,  "your 
cause  is  lost.  If  you  care  to  escape  aboard  the 
steamer,  I  will  see  to  it  that  you  are  not  removed  from 
her  before  she  sails;  if  you  care  to  surrender  to  me 
now,  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour  you  will  not  be 
executed." 

Benavides  might  have  had,  and  doubtless  did  have, 
his  faults,  but  cowardice  was  not  one  of  them.  And 
he  did  have  the  ghost  of  a  sense  of  humour.  An  evil 
smile  flitted  over  his  olive  features. 

"Without  taking  into  consideration  the  bayonets 
at  my  back,"  he  replied,  "it  strikes  me  the  odds  are 
even  now.  And  yet  you  patronize  me." 

Webster  was  nettled.  "I'd  rather  do  that  than 
kill  you,  Benavides,"  he  retorted.  "Don't  be  a  fool. 
Run  along  and  sell  your  papers,  and  take  your  pitiful 
little  sandal-footed  brigands  with  you.  Scat!" 


338  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Benavides's  hand,  holding  his  pistol,  had  been  hang 
ing  loosely  at  his  side.  With  his  furious  glance  meet 
ing  Webster's  unfalteringly,  with  the  merest  move 
ment  of  his  wrist  and  scarcely  without  movement  of 
his  forearm,  he  threw  up  his  weapon  and  fired. 
Scarcely  a  fifth  of  a  second  had  elapsed  between 
the  movement  of  his  wrist  and  the  pressure  of  his 
finger  on  the  trigger;  Webster,  gazing  steadily  into 
the  sombre  eyes,  had  noted  no  hint  of  the  man's  in 
tention,  and  was  actually  caught  off  his  guard. 

The  bullet  tore  through  his  biceps,  momentarily 
paralyzing  him,  and  his  automatic  dropped  clattering 
to  the  sidewalk;  as  he  stooped  and  recovered  it,  Bena- 
vides  fired  again,  creasing  the  top  of  his  left  shoulder. 
The  Sobrantean  took  aim  for  a  third  and  finishing 
shot,  but  when  he  pulled  the  trigger  the  hammer 
fell  on  a  defective  cartridge,  which  gave  to  John  Stuart 
Webster  all  the  advantage  he  craved.  He  planted 
a  bullet  in  Benavides's  abdomen  with  his  first  shot, 
blew  out  the  duelist's  brains  with  his  second,  and 
whirled  to  meet  the  charge  of  the  little  sandal-footed 
soldados,  who,  seeing  their  leader  fallen,  had  without 
an  instant's  hesitation  and  apparently  by  mutual  con 
sent  decided  to  avenge  him. 

Webster  backed  dazedly  toward  the  wall,  firing  as 
he  did  so,  but  he  was  too  dizzy  to  shoot  effectively, 
and  the  semicircle  of  bayonets  closed  in  on  his  front. 
He  had  wounded  three  men  without  stopping  them; 
a  second  more,  and  their  long,  eighteen-inch  bayonets 
would  have  been  in  his  vitals,  when  into  the  midst  of 
the  melee,  from  the  rear,  dashed  Don  Juan  Cafetero, 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  339 

shrieking  like  a  fiend  and  swinging  his  rifle,  which  he 
held  grasped  by  the  barrel. 

Webster  saw  a  bayonet  lunging  toward  him.  He 
lifted  his  leg  and  caught  the  point  on  his  boot-heel 
while  with  his  last  cartridge  he  killed  the  man  behind 
the  bayonet,  just  as  the  latter's  next-rank  man  thrust 
straight  and  true  in  under  the  American's  left  arm, 
while  a  third  man  jabbed  at  his  stomach  and  got  the 
bayonet  home  in  his  hip.  These  two  thrusts,  de 
livered  almost  simultaneously,  by  their  impact  carried 
their  victim  backward  against  the  wall,  against  which 
his  head  collided  with  a  smart  thud.  He  fell  forward 
on  his  face;  before  his  assailants  could  draw  back  for  a 
finishing  thrust,  in  case  the  gringo  needed  it,  which 
they  doubted,  Don  Juan  Cafetero  had  brained  them 
both. 

Standing  above  the  man  he  loved,  with  the  latter's 
body  between  his  outspread  legs,  Don  Juan  Cafetero 
stood  for  the  final  accounting,  his  buttermilk  eyes 
gleaming  hatred  and  war-madness,  his  lips  drawn 
back  from  his  snaggle  teeth,  his  breast  rising  and 
falling  as  they  closed  in  around  him.  For  a  few  sec 
onds  he  was  visible  swinging  his  rifle  like  a  flail, 
magnificent,  unterrified — and  then  a  bayonet  slipped 
in  under  his  guard.  It  was  the  end. 

With  a  final  great  effort  that  used  up  the  last 
strength  in  his  drink-corroded  muscles  he  hurled  his 
rifle  into  the  midst  of  his  four  remaining  enemies, 
before  he  swayed  and  toppled  full  length  on  top  of 
Webster,  shielding  with  his  poor  body  the  man  who 
had  fanned  to  flame  the  dying  ember  of  manhood  in 


340  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

the  wreck  that  drink  and  the  devil  had  cast  up  on 
the  Caribbean  coast. 

For  Don  Juan  Cafetero  it  had  been  a  long,  joyous, 
thirsty  day,  but  at  last  the  day  was  done.  And  in 
order  to  make  certain,  a  soldado  jabbed  him  once 
more  through  the  vitals  before  he  fled  with  the  other 
survivors. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SIX 

FOR  half  an  hour  after  Webster  left  her  to  assist 
the  great-hearted  Mother  Jenks  in  her  rough 
care   of  the    wounded,   Dolores,   absorbed    in 
her  work  of  mercy,  gave  all  of  her  thought  to  the 
grim  task  before  her.     The  cries,  followed  by  the 
sudden,  savage  outbreak  of  fire  when  the  Guards 
made  their  dash  from  the  palace,  brought  Webster 
and  Don  Juan  to  mind  instantly.     In  a  quick  access 
of  terror  and  apprehension  she  clung,  trembling,  to 
stolid  old  Mother  Jenks. 

"Somebody's  breakin'  in  or  breakin'  out,"  the 
veteran  decided  calmly.  "Come  to  the  corner, 
dearie,  an'  'ave  a  look." 

She  half  dragged  Dolores  to  the  corner,  from  which 
they  had  an  unobstructed  view  down  the  cross-street 
to  its  intersection  three  blocks  distant  with  the  Calle 
San  Rosario;  consequently  they  saw  the  dozen  or  more 
survivors  of  that  ill-fated  dash  from  the  north  gate 
of  the  palace  flash  for  a  second  across  their  line  of 
vision.  Mother  Jenks  croaked  dismally,  like  a  dis 
reputable  old  raven;  she  was  trying  to  cheer. 

"The  rats  are  leavin'  the  sinkin' ship,"  she  wheezed. 
"Come  an'  see  them  tyke  the  devils  as  killed  my 
sainted  'Enery."  She  broke  eagerly  from  Dolores's 
detaining  grasp  and  ran  down  the  street.  Dolores 

341 


342  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

hesitated  a  moment;  then,  reasoning  that  her  duty 
lay  in  pursuing  Mother  Jenks  and  preventing  her 
from  rushing  headlong  into  the  conflict,  she  followed. 

Evidently  the  fleeing  Guards  had  scurried  around 
a  corner  into  a  cross-street  shortly  after  Dolores  and 
Mother  Jenks  had  seen  them  gallop  past,  for  the 
firing  down  the  Calle  San  Rosario  had  ceased  entirely 
by  the  time  they  reached  it.  They  stood  a  moment 
at  the  corner,  gazing  up  the  street  at  the  dead — man 
and  beast — with  the  wounded  crawling  out  of  the 
shambles  to  the  sidewalk. 

Mother  Jenks  nodded  approvingly  as  triumphant 
shouts  from  the  north  gate  told  her  the  Ruey  men 
were  pouring  into  the  palace;  with  their  arms  about 
each  other  the  two  women  watched  and  waited — 
and  presently  the  national  flag  on  the  palace  came 
fluttering  down  from  its  staff,  to  be  raised  again  with 
the  red  banner  of  revolution  fluttering  above  it,  the 
insignia  of  a  nation  reborn. 

"My  lamb,"  Mother  Jenks  said  softly  to  Dolores, 
"the  war  is  over.  Wot's  the  matter  with  goin'  in 
the  south  gate  an'  wytin'  on  the  palace  steps  for  the 
provisional  president  to  make  his  grand  ountray? 
If  we  'esitate  five  minutes  they'll  have  a  bloomin' 
guard  on  both  gates,  arskin'  us  'oo  we  are  an'  wot  we 
want." 

"But  Mr.  Webster  will  come  to  that  back  street 
looking  for  me;  I  must  go  back  and  wait  there  for 
him." 

"Wyte,  nothink!"  Mother  Jenks  overruled  the 
girl's  protest  roughly.  "  'E'll  'ave  gone  into  the 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  343 

palace  with  the  crowd  for  a  look-see;  we'll  meet  'im 
there  an'  syve  'im  the  trotible  o'  'untin'  for  us. 
Come!"  And  she  half  dragged  the  shrinking  girl 
toward  the  gate,  a  block  distant,  where  only  a  few 
minutes  before  Webster  and  Don  Juan  Cafetero 
had  made  their  ineffectual  stand. 

"Don't  look  at  the  blighters,  honey,"  Mother 
Jenks  warned  Dolores  when,  in  approaching  the  gate, 
she  caught  sight  of  the  bodies  strewed  in  front  of  it. 
"My  word!  Regular  bally  mess — an'  all  spiggoties! 
Cawn't  be.  Must  'ave  been  some  white  meat  on 
this  bird,  as  my  sainted  'Enery  uster  s'y.  Hah! 
Thought  so!  There's  a  red-headed  'un!  Gawd's 
truth!  An'  'e  done  all  that — Gor'  strike  me  pink! 
It's  Don  Juan  Cafetero." 

Mother  Jenks  stepped  over  the  gory  corpses  ringed 
around  Don  Juan  and  knelt  beside  him.  "Don 
Juan!"  she  cried.  "You  bally,  interferin'  blighter, 
you've  gone  an'  got  it!" 

She  ran  her  strong  old  arms  under  his  dripping 
body,  lifted  him  and  laid  his  red  head  on  her  knee, 
while  with  her  free  hand  she  drew  a  small  flask  of 
brandy  from  her  dress  pocket. 

Don  Juan  opened  his  buttermilk  eyes  and  gazed 
up  at  her  with  slowly  dawning  wonder,  then  closed 
them  again,  drowsily,  like  a  tired  child.  Mother 
Jenks  pressed  the  flask  to  his  blue  lips;  as  the  brandy 
bit  his  tongue  he  rolled  his  fiery  head  in  feeble  protest 
and  weakly  set  his  teeth  against  the  lip  of  the  flask. 
Wondering,  Mother  Jenks  withdrew  it — and  then 
Don  Juan  spoke. 


344  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Have  ye  the  masther's  permission,  dllanah?  I 
give  him  me  worrd  av  honour — not — to  dhrink — till 
— he — give — permission.  He — was  good — to  me — 
troth  he  was — God — love — me — boss " 

His  jaw  dropped  loosely;  his  head  rolled  sideways; 
but  ere  his  spirit  fled,  Don  Juan  Caf  etero  had  justified 
the  faith  of  his  master.  He  had  kept  his  word  of 
honour.  He  had  made  good  on  his  brag  to  die  for 
John  Stuart  Webster  and  welcome  the  chance! 
Mother  Jenks  held  his  body  a  little  while,  gazing 
into  the  face  no  longer  rubicund;  then  gently  she 
eased  it  to  the  ground  and  for  the  first  time  was  aware 
that  Dolores  knelt  in  the  dirt  opposite  to  her  striving 
to  lift  the  body  upon  which  Don  Juan  had  been  lying. 

The  strength  of  Dolores  was  unequal  to  the  task; 
so  Mother  Jenks,  hardened,  courageous,  calm  as  her 
sainted  'Enery  at  his  inglorious  finish,  rose  and 
stepped  around  to  her  side  to  help  her.  She  could 
see  this  other  was  a  white  man,  too;  coolly  she 
stooped  and  wiped  his  gory  face  with  the  hem  of  her 
apron.  And  then  she  recognized  him! 

"Lift  him  up!  Give  him  to  me!"  Dolores  sobbed. 
"OK,  Caliph,  my  poor  dear,  big-hearted  blundering 
boy!" 

She  got  her  arm  under  his  head;  Mother  Jenks 
aided  her;  and  the  limp  body  was  lifted  to  a  sitting 
position;  then  Dolores  knelt  on  one  knee,  supporting 
him  with  the  other,  and  drew  his  head  over  on  her 
shoulder;  with  her  white  cheek  cuddled  against  his, 
she  spoke  into  his  deaf  ears  the  little,  tender,  foolish 
words  that  mothers  have  for  their  children,  that 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  345 

women  have  for  the  stricken  men  of  their  love.  She 
pleaded  with  him  to  open  his  eyes,  to  speak  to  her 
and  tell  her  he  still  lived;  so  close  was  his  face  to  hers 
that  she  saw  an  old  but  very  faint  white  scar  running 
diagonally  across  his  left  eyebrow — and  kissed  it. 

Presently  strong  arms  took  him  from  her;  clinging 
to  somebody — she  knew  not  whom — she  followed, 
moaning  broken-heartedly,  while  eight  men,  forming 
a  rude  litter  with  four  rifles  passed  under  his  body, 
bore  Webster  to  the  shade  of  a  tufted  palm  inside  the 
palace  gate. 

As  they  laid  Webster  down  for  a  moment  there 
Dolores  saw  a  tall,  youthful  man,  of  handsome 
features  and  noble  bearing,  approach  and  look  at  him. 
In  his  eyes  there  were  tears;  a  sob  escaped  him  as 
with  a  little  impulsive,  affectionate  movement  he 
patted  John  Stuart  Webster's  cheek. 

"My  friend!"  the  fainting  Dolores  heard  him  mur 
mur.  "My  great-hearted,  whimsical,  lovable  John 
Webster.  You  made  it  possible  for  me  to  meet  you 
here  to-night — and  this  is  the  meeting!" 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-SEVEN 

WHILE  Ricardo  watched  beside  the  uncon 
scious  Webster  one  of  his  aides  galloped  up  the 
street,  to  return  presently  with  a  detachment 
with  stretchers,  into  which  Webster  and  Don  Juan 
Cafetero  were  laid  and  carried  up  the  palace  driveway 
into  the  huge  golden  reception-hall  where  only  the 
night  before  Sarros  had  greeted  the  belles  and  beaux 
of  his  capital.  In  the  meantime  Mother  Jenks  had 
succeeded  in  restoring  Dolores  to  consciousness;  sup 
ported  by  the  indomitable  old  woman  the  girl  slowly 
followed  the  grim  procession  until,  at  the  door  of 
the  reception-room,  they  found  their  further  progress 
barred  by  a  sentry. 

"The  red-haired  man  is  dead,"  he  informed  them 
in  response  to  their  eager  queries.  "If  you  want  his 
body,"  he  continued,  hazarding  a  guess  as  to  their 
mission,  "I  guess  you  can  have  it.  There  he  is." 
And  the  sentry  pointed  to  the  stretcher  which  had 
been  set  down  along  the  wall  of  the  reception-hall. 

"  'Ow  about  the  other?"  Mother  Jenks  demanded. 
Don  Juan  Cafetero  had,  unfortunately,  been  so  much 
of  a  nuisance  to  her  in  life  that  she  was  not  minded  to 
be  troubled  greatly  over  him  in  death,  although  the 
Spartanlike  manner  of  his  exit  had  thrilled  the  British 
bulldog  blood  in  her. 

346 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  347 

"The  big  fellow  isn't  quite  dead  yet,  but  I'm 
afraid  he's  a  goner.  The  surgeons  have  him  in  this 
room  now.  Friend  of  yours,  Miss?"  he  inquired  in 
tones  freighted  with  neighbourly  sympathy. 

Dolores  nodded. 

"Sorry  I  can't  let  you  in,  Miss,"  he  continued, 
"but  the  General  ordered  me  to  keep  everybody  out 
until  the  doctors  have  finished  looking  him  over.  If 
I  was  you,  I'd  wait  in  that  room  across  the  hall;  then 
you  can  get  the  first  news  when  the  doctors  come  out." 

Mother  Jenks  accepted  his  advice  and  steered  her 
charge  into  the  room  indicated.  And  as  they  waited, 
Ricardo  Ruey  stood  anxiously  beside  the  table  on 
which  John  Stuart  Webster's  big,  limp  body  reposed, 
while  Doctor  Pacheco,  assisted  by  a  Sobrantean  con 
frere,  went  deftly  over  him  with  surgical  scissors  and 
cut  the  blood-soaked  clothing  from  his  body. 

"He  breathes  very  gently,"  the  rebel  leader  said, 
presently.  "Is  there  any  hope?" 

The  little  doctor  shrugged.  "I  fear  not.  That 
bayonet-thrust  in  the  left  side  missed  his  heart  but 
not  his  lung." 

"But  apparently  he  hasn't  bled  much  from  that 
wound." 

"The  hemorrhage  is  probably  internal.  Even  if 
that  congestion  of  blood  in  the  lungs  does  not  prove 
fatal  very  shortly,  he  cannot,  in  his  weakened  state, 
survive  the  traumatic  fever  from  all  these  wounds. 
It  is  bound — hello,  how  our  poor  friend  still  lives 
with  the  bayonet  broken  off  in  his  body — for  here  is 
steel — hah!  Not  a  bayonet,  but  a  pistol." 


348  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

He  unbuttoned  the  wounded  man's  coat  and  found 
a  strap  running  diagonally  up  across  his  breast  and 
over  the  right  shoulder,  connecting  with  a  holster 
under  the  left  arm.  The  doctor  unbuckled  this  strap 
and  removed  the  holster,  which  contained  Webster's 
spare  gun;  Ricardo,  glancing  disinterestedly  at  the 
sheathed  weapon,  noted  a  small,  new,  triangular 
hole  in  the  leather  holster.  He  picked  it  up,  with 
drew  the  pistol,  and  found  a  deep  scratch,  recently 
made,  along  the  blued  steel  close  to  the  vulcanite 
butt. 

When  Ricardo  glanced  at  Pacheco  after  his  scrut 
iny  of  the  pistol  and  holster,  the  doctor's  dark  eyes 
were  regarding  him  mirthfully. 

"I  have  been  unnecessarily  alarmed,  my  general," 
said  Pacheco.  "Our  dear  friend  has  been  most 
fortunate  in  his  choice  of  wounds " 

"He's  a  lucky  Yankee;  that's  what  he  is,  my  dear 
Pacheco.  A  lucky  Yankee!"  Ricardo  leaned  over 
and  examined  the  bayonet-wound  in  Webster's  left 
side.  "He  took  the  point  of  the  steel  on  this  pistol 
he  happened  to  be  wearing  under  his  left  arm,"  he 
went  on  to  explain.  "That  turned  the  bayonet  and 
it  slid  along  his  ribs,  making  a  superficial  flesh- 
wound." 

Pacheco  nodded.  "And  this  bullet  merely  burned 
the  top  of  his  right  shoulder,  while  another  passed 
through  his  biceps  without  touching  the  bone.  His 
most  severe  wound  is  this  jab  in  the  hip." 

They  stripped  every  stitch  of  clothing  from  Web 
ster  and  went  over  him  carefully.  At  the  back  of  his 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  349 

Iiead  they  found  a  little  clotted  blood  from  a  small 
split  in  the  scalp ;  also  they  found  a  lump  of  generous 
proportions.  Pacheco  laughed  briefly  but  con 
tentedly. 

"Then  he  is  not  even  seriously  injured?"  Ricardo 
interrupted  that  laugh. 

"I  would  die  of  fright  if  I  had  to  fight  this  fine 
fellow  a  month  from  to-day,"  the  little  doctor  chirped. 
"Look  at  that  chest,  mi  general — and  that  flat 
abdomen.  The  man  is  in  superb  physical  condition; 
it  is  the  bump  on  the  head  that  renders  him  uncon 
scious — not  loss  of  blood." 

As  if  to  confirm  this  expert  testimony  Webster 
at  that  moment  breathed  long  and  deeply,  screwed 
up  his  face  and  shook  his  head  very  slightly.  There 
after  for  several  minutes  he  gave  no  further  evidence 
of  an  active  interest  in  life — seeing  which  Pacheco 
decided  to  take  prompt  advantage  of  his  unconscious 
ness  and  probe  the  wounds  in  his  arm  and  shoulder 
for  the  fragments  of  clothing  which  the  bullets  must 
have  carried  into  them.  After  ten  minutes  of  prob 
ing  Pacheco  announced  that  he  was  through  and 
ready  to  bandage;  whereupon  John  Stuart  Webster 
said  faintly  but  very  distinctly,  in  English: 

"I'm  awfully  glad  you  are,  Doc'.  It  hurt  like 
hell!  Did  you  manage  to  get  a  bite  on  that  fishing- 
trip?" 

"Jack  Webster,  you  scoundrel!"  Ricardo  yelled 
joyously,  and  he  shook  the  patient  with  entire  dis 
regard  of  the  latter's  wounds.  "Oh,  man,  I'm  glad 
you're  not  dead." 


350  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Your  sentiments  appeal  to  me  strongly,  my 
friend.  I'm — too — tired  to  look — at  you.  Who  the 
devil — are  you?" 

"I'mRicardo." 

Fell  a  silence,  while  Webster  prepared  for  another 
speech.  "Where  am  I?" 

"In  the  palace." 

"Hum-m!    Then  it  was  a  famous  victory." 

"One  strong,  decisive  blow  did  the  trick,  old  chap. 
We  won  pulled-up,  and  that  forty-thousand-dollar 
bet  of  yours  is  safe.  I'll  cash  the  ticket  for  you  to 
morrow  morning." 

"Damn  the  forty  thousand.  Where's  my  Croppy 
Boy?" 

"Your  what?" 

"My  wild  Irish  blackthorn,  Don  Juan  Cafetero." 

"I  hope,  old  man,  he  has  ere  now  that  which  all 
brave  Irishmen  and  true  deserve — a  harp  with  a 
crown.  In  life  the  Irish  have  the  harp  without  the 
crown,  you  know." 

"How  did  he  die?"  Webster  whispered. 

"He  died  hard,  with  the  holes  in  front — and  he 
died  for  you." 

Two  big  tears  trickled  slowly  through  Webster's 
closed  lids  and  rolled  across  his  pale  cheek.  "Poor, 
lost,  lonesome,  misunderstood  wreck,"  he  murmured 
presently,  "he  was  an  extremist  in  all  things.  He 
used  to  sing  those  wonderfully  poetic  ballads  of  his 
people — I  remember  one  that  began:  *  Green  were 
the  fields  where  my  forefathers  dwelt.'  I  think  his 
heart  was  in  Kerry — so  we'll  send  him  there.  He's 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  351 

my  dead,  Ricardo;  care  for  his  body,  because  I'm — 
going  to  plant  Don  Juan  with  the — shamrocks.  They 
didn't  understand  him  here.  He  was  an  exile — so 
I'm  going  to  send  him — home." 

"He  shall  have  a  military  funeral,"  Rocardo  prom 
ised. 

"From  the  cathedral,"  Webster  added.  "And 
take  a  picture  of  it  for  his  people.  He  told  me  about 
them.  I  want  them  to  think  he  amounted  to  some 
thing,  after  all.  And  when  you  get  this  two-by-four 
republic  of  yours  going  again,  Rick,  you  might  have 
your  congress  award  Don  Juan  a  thousand  dollars  oro 
for  capturing  Sarros.  Then  we  can  send  the  money 
to  his  old  folks." 

"But  he  didn't  capture  Sarros,"  Ricardo  pro 
tested.  "The  man  escaped  when  the  Guards  cut 
their  way  through." 

"He  didn't.    That  was  a  ruse  while  he  beat  it  out 

the  gate  where  you  found  me.     I  saw  Don  Juan 

knock  him  cold  with  thef  butt)of  his  rifle  after  I'd 

brought  down  his  horse."    -fr^AM^'cA  ^c^^a^  ^ 

"Do  you  think  he's  there  yet?" 

"He  may  be — provided  all  this  didn't  happen  the 
day  before  yesterday.  If  I  wanted  him,  I'd  go  down 
and  look  for  him,  Rick." 

"I'll  go  right  away,  Jack." 

"One  minute,  then.  Send  a  man  around  to  that 
little  back  street  where  they  have  the  wounded — it's 
a  couple  of  blocks  away  from  here — to  tell  Mother 
Jenks  and  the  young  lady  with  her  I'll  not  be  back." 

"  They're  both  outside  now.     They  must  have  gone 


352  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

looking  for  you,  because  they  found  you  and  Don 
Juan  first  and  then  told  me  about  it." 

"Who  told  you?" 

"Mother  Jenks." 

"Oh!    Well,  run  along  and  get  your  man." 

Ricardo  departed  on  the  run,  taking  the  sentry  at 
the  door  with  him  and  in  his  haste  giving  no  thought 
to  Mother  Jenks  and  her  companion  waiting  for  the 
doctor's  verdict.  In  the  palace  grounds  he  gathered 
two  more  men  and  bade  them  follow  him;  leading  by 
twenty  yards,  he  emerged  at  the  gate  and  paused  to 
look  around  him. 

Some  hundred  feet  down  the  street  from  the  palace 
gate  Sarros's  bay  charger  lay  dead.  When  Web 
ster's  bullet  brought  the  poor  beast  down,  his  rider 
had  fallen  clear  of  him,  only  to  fall  a  victim  to  the 
ferocity  of  Don  Juan  Cafetero.  Later,  as  Sarros  lay 
stunned  and  bleeding  beside  his  mount,  the  stricken 
animal  in  its  death-struggle  had  half  risen,  only  to 
fall  again,  this  time  on  the  extended  left  leg  of  his  late 
master;  consequently  when  Sarros  recovered  con 
sciousness  following  the  thoughtful  attentions  of  his 
assailant,  it  was  to  discover  himself  a  hopeless  prisoner. 
The  heavy  carcass  of  his  horse  pinned  his  foot  and 
part  of  his  leg  to  the  ground,  rendering  him  as  helpless 
and  desperate  as  a  trapped  animal.  For  several  min 
utes  now  he  had  been  striving  frantically  to  release 
himself;  with  his  sound  right  leg  pressed  against  the 
animal's  backbone  he  tried  to  gain  sufficient  purchase 
to  withdraw  his  left  leg  from  the  carcass. 

As  Ricardo  caught  sight  of  Sarros  he  instinctively 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  353 

realized  that  this  was  his  mortal  enemy;  motioning 
his  men  to  stand  back,  he  approached  the  struggling 
man  on  tiptoe  and  thoughtfully  possessed  himself 
of  the  dictator's  pistol,  which  lay  in  back  of  him  but 
not  out  of  reach.  Just  as  he  did  so,  Sarros,  ap 
parently  convinced  of  the  futility  of  his  efforts  to  free 
himself,  surrendered  to  fate  and  commenced  rather 
pitifully  to  weep  with  rage  and  despair. 

Ricardo  watched  him  for  a  few  seconds,  for  there 
was  just  sufficient  of  the  blood  of  his  Castilian  ances 
tors  still  in  his  veins  to  render  this  sorry  spectacle 
rather  an  enjoyable  one  to  him.  Besides,  he  was  50 
per  cent.  Iberian,  a  race  which  can  hate  quite  as 
thoroughly  as  it  can  love,  and  for  a  time  Ricardo  even 
nourished  the  thought  of  still  further  indulging  his 
thirst  for  revenge  by  pretending  to  aid  Sarros  in  his 
escape!  Presently,  however,  he  put  the  ungenerous 
thought  from  him;  seizing  the  dead  horse  by  the 
tail,  he  dragged  the  carcass  off  his  enemy's  leg, 
while  Sarros  sat  up,  tailor-fashion,  and  commenced 
to  tub  the  circulation  back  into  the  bruised  member, 
Ricardo  seated  himself  on  the  rump  of  the  dead  horse 
and  appraised  his  prisoner  critically. 

Sarros  glanced  up,  remembered  his  manners  and 
very  heartily  and  gracefully  thanked  his  deliverer. 

"It  is  not  a  matter  for  which  thanks  are  due  me, 
Sarros,"  Ricardo  replied  coldly.  "I  am  Ricardo 
Luiz  Ruey,  and  I  have  come  back  to  Sobrante  to 
pay  my  father's  debt  to  you.  You  will  remember 
having  forced  the  obligation  upon  me  in  the  cemetery 
some  fifteen  years  ago." 


354  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

For  perhaps  ten  horrified  seconds  Sarros  stared  at 
Ricardo;  then  the  dark  blood  in  him  came  to  his 
defense;  his  tense  pose  relaxed;  the  fright  and  despair 
left  his  swarthy  countenance  as  if  erased  with  a  moist 
sponge,  leaving  him  as  calmly  stoical  and  indifferent 
as  a  cigarstore  Indian.  He  fumbled  in  his  coat 
pocket  for  a  gold  cigarette  case,  selected  a  cigarette, 
lighted  it  and  blew  smoke  at  Ricardo.  The  jig  was 
up;  he  knew  it;  and  with  admirable  nonchalance  he 
declined  to  lower  his  presidential  dignity  by  discuss 
ing  or  considering  it.  He  realized  it  would  delight 
his  captor  to  know  he  dreaded  to  face  the  issue,  and 
it  was  not  a  Sarros  practice  to  give  aid  and  comfort 
to  the  enemy 

"Spunky  devil!"  Ricardo  reflected,  forced  to 
admiration  despite  himself.  Aloud  he  said:  "You 
know  the  code  of  our  people,  Sarros.  An  eye  for 
an  eye  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth." 

Sarros  bowed.  "I  am  at  your  service,"  he  replied 
carelessly. 

"Then  at  daylight  to-morrow  morning  I  shall 
make  settlement."  Ricardo  beckoned  his  men  to 
approach.  "Take  this  man  and  confine  him  under 
a  double  guard  in  the  arsenal,"  he  ordered.  "Pre 
sent  my  compliments  to  the  officer  in  charge  there 
and  tell  him  it  is  my  wish  that  a  priest  be  provided 
for  the  prisoner  to-night,  and  that  to-morrow  morn 
ing,  at  six  o'clock,  a  detail  of  six  men  and  a  sergeant 
escort  this  man  to  the  cemetery  in  the  rear  of  the 
Catedral  de  la  Cruz.  I  will  meet  the  detail  there  and 
take  command  of  it." 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  355 

Two  of  Ricardo's  imported  fighting  men  stepped 
to  the  prisoner's  side,  seized  him,  one  by  each  arm, 
and  lifted  him  to  his  feet;  supported  between  them, 
he  limped  away  to  his  doom,  while  his  youthful 
conqueror  remained  seated  on  the  dead  horse,  his 
gaze  bent  upon  the  ground,  his  mind  dwelling,  not 
upon  his  triumph  over  Sarros  but  upon  the  prodigious 
proportions  of  the  task  before  him :  the  rehabilitation 
of  a  nation.  After  a  while  he  rose  and  strolled  over 
toward  the  gate,  where  he  paused  to  note  the  grim 
evidences  of  the  final  stand  of  Webster  and  Don  Juan 
Cafetero  before  passing  through  the  portal. 

Ricardo  had  now,  for  the  first  time,  an  opportunity 
to  look  around  him;  so  he  halted  to  realize  his  home 
coming,  to  thrill  with  this,  the  first  real  view  of  the 
home  of  his  boyhood.  The  spacious  lawn  surround 
ing  the  palace  had  been  plowed  and  scarred  with 
bursting  shrapnel  from  the  field  guns  captured  in  the 
arsenal,  although  the  building  itself  had  been  little 
damaged,  not  having  sustained  a  direct  hit  because  of 
Ricardo's  stringent  orders  not  to  use  artillery  on 
the  palace  unless  absolutely  necessary  to  smoke  Sarros 
out.  Scattered  over  the  grounds  Ricardo  counted 
some  twenty-odd  Government  soldiers,  all  wearing 
that  pathetically  flat,  crumpled  appearance  which 
seems  inseparable  from  the  bodies  of  men  killed  in  ac 
tion.  The  first  shrapnel  had  probably  commenced  to 
drop  in  the  grounds  just  as  a  portion  of  the  palace  gar 
rison  had  been  marching  out  to  join  the  troops  fighting 
at  the  cantonment  barracks.  Evidently  the  men  had 
scattered  like  quail,  only  to  be  killed  as  they  ran. 


356  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

From  this  grim  scene  Ricardo  raised  his  eyes  to 
the  palace,  the  castellated  towers  of  which,  looming 
through  the  tufted  palms,  were  reflecting  the  setting 
sun.  Over  the  balustrade  of  one  of  the  upper  bal 
conies  the  limp  body  of  a  Sarros  sharpshooter,  picked 
off  from  the  street,  drooped  grotesquely,  his  arms 
hanging  downward  as  if  in  ironical  welcome  to  the 
son  of  Ruey  the  Beloved.  The  sight  induced  in  Ri 
cardo  a  sense  of  profound  sadness;  his  Irish  imagi 
nation  awoke;  to  him  that  mute  figure  seemed  to  call 
upon  him  for  pity,  for  kindness,  for  forbearance,  for 
understanding  and  sympathy.  Those  outflung  arms 
of  the  martyred  peon  symbolized  to  Ricardo  Ruey 
the  spirit  of  liberty,  shackled  and  helpless,  calling 
upon  him  for  deliverance;  they  brought  to  his  alert 
mind  a  clearer  realization  of  the  duty  that  was  his 
than  he  had  ever  had  before.  He  had  a  great  task 
to  perform,  a  task  inaugurated  by  his  father,  and 
which  Ricardo  could  not  hope  to  finish  in  his  lifetime. 
He  must  solve  the  agrarian  problem;  he  must  develop 
the  rich  natural  resources  of  his  country;  he  must 
provide  free,  compulsory  education  and  evolve  from 
the  ignorance  of  the  peon  an  intelligence  that  would 
built  up  that  which  Sobrante,  in  common  with  her 
sister  republics,  so  woefully  lacked — the  great  middle 
class  that  stands  always  as  a  buffer  between  the  ag 
gression  and  selfishness  of  the  upper  class  and  the 
helplessness  and  childishness  of  the  lower. 

Ricardo  bowed  his  head.  "Help  me,  O  Lord,"  he 
prayed.  "  Thou  hast  given  me  in  Thy  wisdom  a  man's 
task.  Help  me  that  I  may  not  prove  unworthy." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-EIGHT 

MOTHER  JENKS,  grown  impatient  at  the 
lack  of  news  concerning  Webster,  left  Dolores 
to  her  grief  in  the  room  across  the  hall  and 
sought  the  open  air,  for  of  late  she  had  been  expe 
riencing  with  recurring  frequency  a  slight  feeling  of 
suffocation.  She  sat  down  on  the  broad  granite 
steps,  helped  herself  to  a  much-needed  "bracer"  from 
her  brandy  flask  and  was  gazing  pensively  at  the 
scene  around  her  when  Ricardo  came  up  the  stairs. 

" 'Ello ! "  Mother  Jenks  saluted  him.  "Were  'ave 
you  been,  Mr.  Bowers?" 

"I  have  just  returned  from  capturing  Sarros,  Mrs. 
Jenks.  He  is  on  his  way  to  the  arsenal  under  guard." 

"Gor?  strike  me  pink!"  the  old  lady  cried.  "'Ave 
I  lived  to  see  this  day! "  Her  face  was  wreathed  in  a 
happy  smile.  "I  wonder  'ow  the  beggar  feels  to  'ave 
the  shoe  on  the  other  foot,  eh — the  'eartless  'ound! 
I'm  'opin'  this  General  Ruey  will  'ave  the  blighter 
shot." 

"You  need  have  no  worry  on  that  score,  Mrs. 
Jenks.  I'm  General  Ruey.  Andrew  Bowers  was 
just  my  summer  name,  as  it  were." 

"Angels  guard  me!  Wot  the  bloomin'  'ell  surprise 
won't  we  'ave  next.  Wot  branch  o'  the  Ruey  tribe 
do  you  belong  to?  Are  you  a  nephew  o'  him  that 

357 


358  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

i 

was  president  before  Sarros  shot  'im?  Antonio 
Ruey,  who  was  'arf  brother  to  the  president,  'ad  a 
son  'e  called  Ricardo.  Are  you  'im,  might  I  arsk?" 

"I  am  the  son  of  Ricardo  the  Beloved,"  he  an 
swered  proudly. 

"Not  the  lad  as  was  away  at  school  when  'is 
father  was  hexecuted?" 

"I  am  that  same  lad,  Mrs.  Jenks.  And  who  are 
you?  You  seem  to  know  a  deal  of  my  family  his 
tory." 

"I,"  the  old  publican  replied  with  equal  pride, 
"am  Mrs.  Colonel  'Enery  Jenks,  who  was  your 
father's  chief  of  hartillery  an'  'ad  the  hextreme  honour 
o'  dyin'  in  front  o'  the  same  wall  with  'im.  By  the 
w'y,  'ow's  Mr.  Webster?"  she  added,  suddenly  re 
membering  the  subject  closest  to  her  heart  just  then. 

"His  wounds  are  trifling.     He'll  live,  Mrs.  Jenks." 

"Well,  that's  better  than  gettin'  poked  in  the  eye 
with  a  sharp  stick,"  the  old  dame  decided  philo 
sophically. 

"Do  you  remember  my  little  sister,  Mrs.  Jenks?" 
Ricardo  continued.  "She  was  in  the  palace  when 
Sarros  attacked  it;  she  perished  there." 

"I  believe  I  'ave  got  a  slight  recollection  o'  the 
nipper,  sir,"  Mother  Jenks  answered  cautiously. 
To  herself  she  said:  "I  s'y,  'Enrietta,  'ere's  a  pretty 
go.  'E  don't  know  the  lamb  is  livin'  an'  in  the  next 
room!  My  word,  wot  a  riot  w'en  'e  meets  'er!" 

"I  will  see  you  again,  Mrs.  Jenks.  I  must  have  a 
long  talk  with  you,"  Ricardo  told  her,  and  passed 
on  into  the  palace;  whereupon  Mother  Jenks  once 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  359 

more  fervently  implored  the  Almighty  to  strike  her 
pink,  and  the  iron  restraint  of  a  long,  hard,  exciting 
day  being  relaxed  at  last,  the  good  soul  bowed  her 
gray  head  in  her  arms  and  wept,  moving  her  body 
from  side  to  side  the  while  and  demanding,  of  no  one 
in  particular,  a  single  legitimate  reason  why  she,  a 
blooming  old  baggage  and  not  fit  to  live,  should  be 
the  recipient  of  such  manifold  blessings  as  this  day 
had  brought  forth. 

In  the  meantime  Ricardo,  with  his  hand  on  the 
knob  of  the  door  leading  to  the  room  where  Webster 
was  having  his  wounds  dressed,  paused  suddenly, 
his  attention  caught  by  the  sound  of  a  sob,  long- 
drawn  and  inexpressibly  pathetic.  He  listened  and 
made  up  his  mind  that  a  woman  in  the  room  across 
the  entrance-hall  was  bewailing  the  death  of  a  loved 
one  who  answered  to  the  name  of  Caliph  and  John 
darling.  Further  eavesdropping  convinced  him  that 
Caliph,  John  darling,  and  Mr.  John  Stuart  Webster 
were  one  and  the  same  person,  and  so  he  tilted  his 
head  on  one  side  like  a  cock-robin  and  considered. 

"By  jingo,  that's  most  interesting,"  he  decided. 
"The  wounded  hero  has  a  sweetheart  or  a  wife — and 
an  American,  too.  She  must  be  a  recent  acquisition, 
because  all  the  time  we  were  together  on  the  steamer 
coming  down  here  he  never  spoke  of  either,  despite 
the  fact  that  we  got  friendly  enough  for  such  con 
fidences.  Something  funny  about  this.  I'd  better 
sound  the  old  bo.v  before  I  start  passing  out  words  of 
comfort  to  that  unhappy  female." 

He  passed  on  into  the  room.    John  Stuart  Web- 


360  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

ster  had,  by  this  time,  been  washed  and  bandaged, 
and  one  of  the  Sarros  servants  (for  the  ex-dictator's 
retinue  still  occupied  the  palace)  had,  at  Doctor 
Pacheco's  command,  prepared  a  guest-chamber  up 
stairs  and  furnished  a  nightgown  of  ample  pro 
portions  to  cover  Mr.  Webster's  bebandaged  but 
otherwise  naked  person.  A  stretcher  had  just  ar 
rived,  and  the  wounded  man  was  about  to  be  carried 
upstairs.  The  late  financial  backer  of  the  revolution 
was  looking  very  pale  and  dispirited;  for  once  in  his 
life  his  whimsical,  bantering  nature  was  subdued. 
His  eyes  were  closed,  and  he  did  not  open  them  when 
Ricardo  entered. 

"Well,  I  have  Sarros,"  the  latter  declared. 

Webster  paid  not  the  slightest  attention  to  this 
announcement.  Ricardo  bent  over  him.  "Jack, 
old  boy,"  he  queried,  "do  you  know  a  person  of 
feminine  persuasion  who  calls  you  Caliph?" 

John  Stuart  Webster's  eyes  and  mouth  flew  wide 
open.  "What  the  devil!"  he  tried  to  roar.  "You 
haven't  been  speaking  to  her,  have  you?  If  you 
have,  I'll  never  forgive  you,  because  you've  spoiled 
my  little  surprise  party." 

"No,  I  haven't  been  speaking  to  her,  but  she's  in 
the  next  room  crying  fit  to  break  her  heart  because 
she  thinks  you've  been  killed." 

"You  scoundrel!  Aren't  you  human?  Go  tell  her 
it's  only  a  couple  of  punctures,  not  a  blowout."  He 
sighed.  "Isn't  it  sweet  of  her  to  weep  over  an  old 
hunks  like  me!"  he  added  softly.  "Bless  her  tender 
heart!" 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  361 

"Who  is  she?"    Ricardo  was  very  curious. 

"That's  none  of  your  business.  You  wait  and  I'll 
tell  you.  She's  the  guest  I  told  you  I  was  going  to 
bring  to  dinner,  and  that's  enough  for  you  to  know 
for  the  present.  Vaya,  you  idiot,  and  bring  her  in 
here,  so  I  can  assure  her  my  head  is  bloody  but  un 
bowed.  Doctor,  throw  that  rug  over  my  shanks 
and  make  me  look  pretty.  I'm  going  to  receive  com 
pany." 

His  glance,  bent  steadily  on  the  door,  had  in  it 
some  of  the  alert,  bright  wistfulness  frequently  to  be 
observed  in  the  eyes  of  a  terrier  standing  expectantly 
before  a  rat-hole.  The  instant  the  door  opened  and 
Dolores's  tear-stained  face  appeared,  he  called  to  her 
with  the  old-time  camaraderie,  for  he  had  erased 
from  his  mind,  for  the  nonce,  the  memory  of  the 
tragedy  of  poor  Don  Juan  Caf  etero  and  was  concerned 
solely  with  the  task  of  banishing  the  tears  from  those 
brown  eyes  and  bringing  the  joy  of  life  back  to  that 
sweet  face. 

"  Hello,  Seeress,"  he  called  weakly.  "  Little  John 
ny's  been  fighting  again,  and  the  bad  boys  gave  him 
an  all-fired  walloping." 

There  was  a  swift  rustle  of  skirts,  and  she  was 
bending  over  him,  her  hot  little  palms  clasping  eagerly 
his  pale,  rough  cheeks.  "Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear!" 
she  whispered,  and  then  her  voice  choked  with  the 
happy  tears  and  she  was  sobbing  on  his  wounded 
shoulder.  Ricardo  stooped  to  draw  her  away,  but 
John  Stuart  bent  upon  him  a  look  of  such  frightful- 
ness  that  he  drew  back  abashed.  After  all,  the 


362  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

past  twenty-four  hours  had  been  quite  exciting,  and 
Ricardo  reflected  that  John's  inamorata  was  tired 
and  frightened  and  probably  hadn't  eaten  anything  all 
day  long,  so  there  was  ample  excuse  for  her  hysteria. 

"Come,  come,  buck  up,"  Webster  soothed  her, 
and  helped  himself  to  a  long  whin0  of  her  fragrant 
hair.  "Old  man  Webster  had  one  leg  in  the  grave, 
but  they've  pulled  it  out  again." 

Still  she  sobbed. 

"Now,  listen  to  me,  lady,"  he  commanded  with 
mock  severity.  "  You  just  stop  that.  You're  wast 
ing  your  sympathy;  and  while,  of  course,  I  enjoy  your 
sympathy  a  heap,  just  pause  to  reflect  on  the  result 
if  those  salt  tears  should  happen  to  drop  into  one  of 
my  numerous  wounds." 

"I'm  so  sorry  for  you,  Caliph,"  she  murmured 
brokenly.  "You  poor,  harmless  boy!  I  don't  see 
how  any  one  could  be  so  fiendish  as  to  hurt  you  when 
you  were  so  distinctly  a  non-combatant." 

"  Thank  you.  Let  us  forget  the  Hague  Conference 
for  the  present,  however.  Have  you  met  your 
brother?"  he  whispered. 

"No,  Caliph." 

"Ricardo." 

"Yes,  Jack." 

"Come  here.  Rick,  you  scheming,  unscrupulous, 
bloodthirsty  adventurer,  I  have  a  tremendous  sur 
prise  in  store  for  you.  The  sweetest  girl  in  the  world 
— and  she's  right  here " 

Ricardo  laughingly  held  up  his  hand.  "Jack,  my 
friend,"  he  interrupted,  "you're  too  weak  to  make  a 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  363 

speech.  Don't  do  it.  Besides,  you  do  not  have  to." 
He  turned  and  bowed  gracefully  to  Dolores.  "I  can 
see  for  myself  she's  the  sweetest  girl  in  the  world,  and 
that  she's  right  here."  He  held  out  his  hand  to  her. 
"Jack  thinks  he's  going  to  spring  a  surprise,"  he 
continued  maliciously,  "quite  forgetting  that  a  good 
soldier  never  permits  himself  to  be  taken  by  surprise. 
I  know  all  about  his  little  secret,  because  I  heard  you 
mourning  for  him  when  you  thought  he  was  dead." 
Ricardo  favoured  her  with  a  knowing  wink.  "I  am 
delighted  to  meet  the  future  Mrs.  Webster.  I  quite 
understand  why  you  fell  in  love  with  him,  because, 
you  see,  I  love  him  myself  and  do  does  everybody 
else." 

With  typical  Castilian  courtliness  he  took  her 
hand,  bowed  low  over  it,  and  kissed  it.  "I  am  Ri 
cardo  Luiz  Ruey,"  he  said,  anxious  to  spare  his  friend 
the  task  of  further  exhausting  conversation.  "And 

"You're  a  consummate  jackass!"  groaned  Web 
ster.  "I'm  only  a  dear  old  family  friend,  and  Do 
lores  is  going  to  marry  Billy  Geary.  You  impetuous 
idiot!  She's  your  own  sister  Dolores  Ruey.  She, 
Mark  Twain,  and  I  have  ample  cause  for  common  com 
plaint  against  the  world  because  the  reports  of  our 
death  have  been  grossly  exaggerated.  She  didn't 
perish  when  your  father's  administration  crumbled. 
Miss  Ruey,  this  is  your  brother  Ricardo.  Kiss  her 
you  damn'  fool — forgive  me,  Miss  Ruey — oh,  Lord, 
nothing  matters  any  more.  He's  gummed  everything 
up  and  ruined  my  party.  I  wish  I  were  dead." 


364  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

Ricardo  stared  from  the  outraged  Webster  to  his 
sister  and  back  again. 

"Jack  Webster,"  he  declared,  "you  aren't  crazy, 
are  you?" 

"Of  course  he  is — the  old  dear,"  Dolores  cried 
happily,  "but  I'm  not."  She  stepped  up  to  her 
brother,  and  her  arms  went  around  his  neck.  "Oh, 
Rick,"  she  cried,  "I'm  your  sister.  Truly,  I  am." 

"Dolores.  My  little  lost  sister  Dolores?  Why, 
I  can't  believe  it!" 

"Well,  you'd  better  believe  it,"  John  Stuart  Web 
ster  growled  feebly.  "Of  course,  you  can  doubt  my 
word  and  get  away  with  it,  now  that  I'm  flat  on  my 
back,  but  if  you  dare  cast  aspersions  on  that  girl's 
veracity,  I'll  murder  you  a  month  from  now." 

He  closed  his  eyes,  feeling  instinctively  that  he 
ought  not  spy  on  such  a  sacred  family  scene.  When, 
however,  the  affecting  meeting  was  over  and  Dolores 
was  ruffling  the  Websterian  foretop  while  her  brother 
pressed  the  Websterian  hand  and  tried  to  say  all  the 
things  he  felt  but  couldn't  express,  John  Stuart  Web 
ster  brought  them  both  back  to  a  realization  of 
present  conditions. 

"Don't  thank  me,  sir,"  he  piped  in  pathetic  imita 
tion  of  the  small  boy  of  melodrama.  "I  have  only 
done  me  duty,  and  for  that  I  cannot  accept  this  purse 
of  gold,  even  though  my  father  and  mother  are  starv 
ing." 

"Oh,  Caliph,  do  be  serious,"  Dolores  pleaded. 

He  looked  up  at  her  fondly.  "Take  your  brother 
out  to  Mother  Jenks  and  prove  your  case,  Miss 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  365 

Ruey,"  he  advised  her.  "And  while  you're  at  it,  I 
certainly  hope  somebody  will  remember  I'm  not 
accustomed  to  reposing  on  a  centre  table.  Rick,  if 
you  can  persuade  some  citizen  of  this  conquered 
commonwealth  to  put  me  to  bed,  I'd  be  obliged. 

I'm  dead  tired,  old  horse.     I'm — ah — sleepy " 

His  head  rolled  weakly  to  one  side,  for  he  had  been 
playing  a  part  and  had  nerved  himself  to  finish  it 
gracefully,  even  in  his  weakened  condition.  He 
sighed,  moaned  slightly,  and  slipped  into  unconscious 
ness. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-NINE 

THROUGHOUT  the  night  there  was  sporadic 
firing  here  and  there  in  the  city,  as  the  Ruey 
followers  relentlessly  hunted  down  the  iso 
lated  detachment  of  Government  troops  which  had 
escaped  annihilation  and  capture  in  the  final  rout 
and  fallen  back  on  the  city,  where,  concealing  them 
selves  according  to  their  nature  and  inclination,  they 
indulged  in  more  or  less  sniping  from  windows  and 
the  roofs  of  buildings.  The  practice  of  taking  no 
prisoners  was  an  old  one  in  Sobrante,  and  few  presi 
dents  had  done  more  than  Sarros  to  keep  that  custom 
alive;  ergo,  firm  in  the  conviction  that  to  surrender 
was  tantamount  to  facing  a  firing  squad  at  daylight, 
the  majority  of  these  stragglers,  with  consummate 
courage,  fought  to  the  death. 

The  capture  of  Buenaventura  was  alone  sufficient 
to  insure  a  brief  revolution,  but  the  capture  of  Sarros 
was  ample  guarantee  that  the  resistance  to  the  new 
order  of  things  was  already  at  an  end.  However,  Ri- 
cardo  Ruey  felt  that  the  prompt  execution  of  Sarros 
would  be  an  added  guarantee  of  peace  by  effectually 
discouraging  any  opposition  to  the  rebel  cause  in  the 
outlying  districts,  where  a  few  isolated  garrisons  still 
remained  in  ignorance  of  the  momentous  events  being 
enacted  in  the  capital.  For  the  time  being,  Ricardo 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  367 

was  master  of  life  and  death  in  Sobrante,  and  all  of 
his  advisers  and  supporters  agreed  with  him  that  a 
so-called  trial  of  the  ex-dictator  would  be  a  rather 
useless  affair.  His  life  was  forfeit  a  hundred  times 
for  murder  and  treason,  and  to  be  ponderous  over  his 
elimination  would  savour  of  mockery.  Accordingly, 
at  midnight,  a  priest  entered  the  room  in  the  ar 
senal  where  Sarros  was  confined,  and  shrived  him. 
Throughout  the  night  the  priest  remained  with  him, 
and  when  that  early  morning  march  to  the  cemetery 
commenced,  he  walked  beside  Sarros,  repeating  the 
prayers  for  the  dying. 

Upon  reaching  the  cemetery  there  was  a  slight  wait 
until  a  carriage  drove  up  and  discharged  Ricardo 
Ruey  and  Mother  Jenks.  The  sergeant  in  command 
of  the  squad  saluted  and  was  briefly  ordered  to  pro 
ceed  with  the  matter  in  hand;  whereupon  he  turned 
to  Sarros,  who  with  the  customary  sang  j raid  of  his 
kind  upon  such  occasions  was  calmly  smoking,  and 
bowed  deprecatingly.  Sarros  actually  smiled  upon 
him.  "Adios,  amigos,"  he  murmured.  Then,  as  an 
afterthought  and  probably  because  he  was  sufficient 
of  an  egoist  to  desire  to  appear  a  martyr,  he  added 
heroically:  "I  die  for  my  country.  May  God  have 
mercy  on  my  enemies." 

"If  you'd  cared  to  play  a  gentleman's  game,  you 
blighter,  you  might  'ave  lived  for  your  bally  coun 
try,"  Mother  Jenks  reminded  him  in  English. 
"Wonder  if  the  beggar '11  wilt  or  will  'e  go  through 
smilin'  like  my  sainted  'Enery  on  the  syme  spot." 

She  need  not  have  worried.     It  requires  a  strong 


368  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

man  to  be  dictator  of  a  Roman-candle  republic  for 
fifteen  years,  and  whatever  his  sins  of  omission  or 
commission,  Sarros  did  not  lack  animal  courage. 
Alone  and  unattended  he  limped  away  among  the 
graves  to  the  wall  on  the  other  side  of  the  cemetery 
and  placed  his  back  against  it,  negligently  in  the 
attitude  of  a  devil-may-care  fellow  without  a  worry 
in  life.  The  sergeant  waited  respectfully  until  Sarros 
had  finished  his  cigarette;  when  he  tossed  it  away  and 
straightened  to  attention,  the  sergeant  knew  he  was 
ready  to  die.  At  his  command  there  was  a  sudden 
rattle  of  bolts  as  the  cartridges  slid  from  the  maga 
zines  into  the  breeches;  there  followed  a  momentary 
halt,  another  command;  the  squad  was  aiming  when 
Ricardo  Ruey  called  sharply: 

"Sergeant,  do  not  give  the  order  to  fire." 

The  rifles  were  lowered  and  the  men  gazed  won- 
deringly  at  Ricardo.  "He's  too  brave,"  Ricardo 
complained.  "Damn  him,  I  can't  kill  him  as  I 
would  a  mad-dog.  I've  got  to  give  him  a  chance." 

The  sergeant  raised  his  brows  expressively.  Ah, 
the  leyfuga,  that  popular  form  of  execution  where  the 
prisoner  is  given  a  running  chance,  and  the  firing- 
squad  practises  wing  shooting  If  the  prisoner  man 
ages,  miraculously,  to  escape,  he  is  not  pursued! 

A  doubt,  however,  crossed  the  sergeant's  mind. 
"But,  my  general,"  he  expostulated,  "Senor  Sarros 
cannot  accept  the  ley  fuga.  He  is  very  lame.  That 
is  not  giving  him  the  chance  your  Excellency  desires 
Jve  should  have." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  that,"  Ricardo  replied.     "I 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  369 

was  thinking  I'm  killing  him  without  a  fair  trial  for 
the  reason  that  he's  so  infernally  ripe  for  the  gallows 
that  a  trial  would  have  been  a  joke.  Nevertheless, 
I  am  really  killing  him  because  he  killed  my  father — 
and  that  is  scarcely  fair.  My  father  was  a  gentle 
man.  Sergeant,  is  your  pistol  loaded?" 

"Yes,  General." 

"Give  it  to  Senor  Sarros." 

As  the  sergeant  started  forward  to  comply  Ricardo 
drew  his  own  service  revolver  and  then  motioned 
Mother  Jenks  and  the  firing-squad  to  stand  aside 
while  he  crossed  to  the  centre  of  the  cemetery. 
"Sarros,"  he  called,  "I  am  going  to  let  God  decide 
which  one  of  us  shall  live.  When  the  sergeant  gives 
the  command  to  fire,  I  shall  open  fire  on  you,  and  you 
are  free  to  do  the  same  to  me.  Sergeant,  if  he  kills 
me  and  escapes  unhurt,  my  orders  are  to  escort  him 
to  the  bay  in  my  carriage  and  put  him  safely  aboard 
the  steamer." 

Mother  Jenks  sat  down  on  a  tombstone.  "  Gord's 
truth!"  she  gasped,  "but  there's  a  rare  plucked  'un." 
Aloud  she  croaked:  "Don't  be  a  bally  ass,  sir." 

"Silence!"  he  commanded. 

The  sergeant  handed  Sarros  the  revolver.  "You 
heard  what  I  said?"  Ricardo  called. 

Sarros  bowed  gravely. 

"You  understand  your  orders,  Sergeant?" 

"Yes,  General." 

"  Very  well.  Proceed .  If  this  prisoner  fires  before 
you  give  the  word,  have  your  squad  riddle  him." 

The  sergeant  backed  away  and  gazed  owlishly  from 


370  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

the  prisoner  to  his  captor.  "Ready!"  he  called. 
Both  revolvers  came  up.  "Fire!"  he  shouted, 
and  the  two  shots  were  discharged  simultaneously. 
Ricardo's  cap  flew  off  his  head,  but  he  remained 
standing,  while  Sarros  staggered  back  against  the 
wall  and  there  recovering  himself  gamely,  fired  again. 
He  scored  a  clean  miss,  and  Ricardo's  gun  barked 
three  times ;  Sarros  sprawled  on  his  face,  rose  to  his 
knees,  raised  his  pistol  halfway,  fired  into  the  sky  and 
slid  forward  on  his  face.  Ricardo  stood  beside  the 
body  until  the  sergeant  approached  and  stood  to 
attention,  his  attitude  saying: 

"It  is  over.     What  next,  General?" 

"Take  the  squad  back  to  the  arsenal,  Sergeant," 
Ricardo  ordered  him  coolly,  and  walked  back  to 
recover  his  uniform  cap.  He  was  smiling  as  he  ran 
his  finger  through  a  gaping  hole  in  the  upper  half  of 
the  crown. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Jenks,"  he  announced  when  he  re 
joined  the  old  lady,  "that  was  better  than  executing 
him  with  a  firing-squad.  I  gave  him  a  square  deal. 
Now  his  friends  can  never  say  that  I  murdered  him." 

He  extended  his  hand  to  help  Mother  Jenks  to  her 
feet.  She  stood  erect  and  felt  again  that  queer  swell 
ing  of  the  heart,  the  old  feeling  of  suffocation. 

"Steady,  lass!"  she  mumbled.  "  'Old  on  to  me, 
sir.  It's  my  bally  haneurism.  Gor' — I'm — chok- 
m' " 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  as  she  lurched  toward 
him.  Her  face  was  purple,  and  in  her  eyes  there  was 
a  queer  fierce  light  that  went  out  suddenly,  leaving 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  371 

them  dull  and  glazed.  When  she  commenced  to  sag 
in  his  arms,  he  eased  her  gently  to  the  ground  and  laid 
her  on  her  back  in  the  grass. 

"The  nipper's  safe,  'Enery,"  he  heard  her  murmur. 
"I've  raised  Jer  a  lydy,  s'elp  me — she's  back  where — 
you  found  'er — 'Enery " 

She  quivered,  and  the  light  came  creeping  back 
into  her  eyes  before  it  faded  forever.  "Comin', 
'Enery — darlin',"  she  whispered;  and  then  the  soul 
of  Mother  Jenks,  who  had  a  code  and  lived  up  to  it 
(which  is  more  than  the  majority  of  us  do),  had  de 
parted  upon  the  ultimate  journey.  Ricardo  gazed 
down  on  the  hard  old  mouth,  softened  now  by  a  little 
half -smile  of  mingled  yearning  and  gladness:  "What 
a  wonderful  soul  you  had,"  he  murmured,  and  kissed 
her. 

In  the  end  she  slept  in  the  niche  in  the  wall  of  the 
Catedral  de  la  Vera  Cruz,  beside  her  sainted  'Enery. 


CHAPTER  THIRTY 


Y  II  ^HREE  days  passed.  Don  Juan  Cafetero 
y  had  been  buried  with  all  the  pomp  and  cir 
cumstance  of  a  national  hero;  Mother  Jenks, 
too,  had  gone  to  her  appointed  resting-place,  and  El 
Buen  Amigo  had  been  closed  forever.  Ricardo 
had  issued  a  proclamation  announcing  himself  pro 
visional  president  of  Sobrante;  a  convention  of  revo 
lutionary  leaders  had  been  held,  and  a  provisional 
cabinet  selected.  A  day  for  the  national  elections 
had  been  named;  the  wreckage  of  the  brief  revolution 
had  been  cleared  away,  and  the  wheels  of  government 
were  once  more  revolving  freely  and  noiselessly. 
And  while  all  of  this  had  been  going  on,  John  Stuart 
Webster  had  lain  on  his  back,  staring  at  the  palace 
ceiling  and  absolutely  forbidden  to  receive  visitors. 
He  was  still  engaged  in  this  mild  form  of  gymnastics 
on  the  third  day  when  the  door  of  his  room  opened 
and  Dolores  looked  in  on  him. 

"Good  evening,  Caliph,"  she  called.  "Aren't  you 
dead  yet?" 

It  was  exactly  the  tone  she  should  have  adopted 
to  get  the  best  results,  for  Webster  had  been  men 
tally  and  physically  ill  since  she  had  seen  him  last, 
and  needed  some  such  pleasantry  as  this  to  lift  him 
out  of  his  gloomy  mood.  He  grinned  at  her  boyishly. 

372 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  373 

"No,  I'm  not  dead.  On  the  contrary,  I'm  feeling 
real  chirpy.  Won't  you  come  in  and  visit  for  a  while, 
MissRuey?" 

"Well,  since  you've  invited  me,  I  shall  accept." 
Entering,  she  stood  beside  his  bed  and  took  the  hand 
he  extended  toward  her.  "This  is  the  first  oppor 
tunity  I've  had,  Miss  Ruey,"  he  began,  "to  apologize 
for  the  shock  I  gave  you  the  other  day.  I  should 
have  come  back  to  you  as  I  promised,  instead  of 
getting  into  a  fight  and  scaring  you  half  to  death. 
I  hope  you'll  forgive  me,  because  I'm  paying  for  my 
fun  now — with  interest." 

"Very  well,  Caliph.  I'll  forgive  you — on  one 
condition." 

"Who  am  I  to  resist  having  a  condition  imposed 
upon  me?  Name  your  terms.  I  shall  obey." 

"I'm  weary  of  being  called  Miss  Ruey.  I  want 
to  be  Dolores — to  you." 

"By  the  toenails  of  Moses,"  he  reflected,  "there  is 
no  escape.  She's  determined  to  rock  the  boat." 
Aloud  he  said:  "All  right,  Dolores.  I  suppose 
I  may  as  well  take  the  license  of  the  old  family  friend. 
I  guess  Bill  won't  mind." 

"Billy  hasn't  a  word  to  say  about  it,"  she  retorted, 
regarding  him  with  that  calm,  impersonal,  yet  vitally 
interested  look  that  always  drove  him  frantic  with 
the  desire  for  her. 

"Well,  of  course,  I  understand  that,"  he  countered. 
"Naturally,  since  Bill  is  only  a  man,  you'll  have  to 
manage  him  and  he'll  have  to  take  orders." 

"Caliph,  you're  a  singularly  persistent  man,  once 


374  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

you  get  an  idea  into  your  head.  Please  understand 
me,  once  for  all:  Billy  Geary  is  a  dear,  and  it's  a 
mystery  to  me  why  every  girl  in  the  world  isn't  per 
fectly  crazy  about  him,  but  every  rule  has  its  excep 
tions — and  Billy  and  I  are  just  good  friends.  I'd 
like  to  know  where  you  got  the  idea  we're  engaged 
to  be  married." 

"Why— why— well,  aren't  you?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"Well,  you — er — you  ought  to  be.  I  expected — 
that  is,  I  planned — I  mean  Bill  told  me  and — and — 
and — er — it  never  occurred  to  me  you  could  possibly 
have  the — er — crust — to  refuse  him.  Of  course 
you're  going  to  marry  him  when  he  asks  you?" 

"Of  course  I  am  not." 

"Ah-h-h-h!"  John  Stuart  Webster  gazed  at  her 
in  frank  amazement.  "Not  going  to  marry  Bill 
Geary!"  he  cried,  highly  scandalized. 

"I  know  you  think  I  ought  to,  and  I  suppose  it  will 
appear  quite  incomprehensible  to  you  when  I  do 
not " 

"Why,  Dolores,  my  dear  girl!  This  is  most  amaz 
ing.  Didn't  Bill  ask  you  to  marry  him  before  he 
left?" 

"Yes,  he  did  me  that  honour,  and  I  declined  him." 

"You  what!" 

She  smiled  at  him  so  maternally  that  his  hand 
itched  to  drag  her  down  to  him  and  kiss  her  curving 
lips. 

"Do  you  mind  telling  me  just  why  you  took  this 
extraordinary  attitude?" 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  375 

"You  have  no  right  to  ask,  but  I'll  tell  you.  I 
refused  Billy  because  I  didn't  love  him  enough — that 
way.  What's  more,  I  never  could." 

He  rolled  his  head  to  one  side  and  softly,  very 
softly,  whistled  two  bars  of  "The  Spanish  Cavalier" 
through  his  teeth  He  was  properly  thunder-struck 
— so  much  so,  in  fact,  that  for  a  moment  he  actually 
forgot  her  presence  the  while  he  pondered  this  most 
incredible  state  of  affairs. 

"I  see  it  all  now.  It's  as  clear  as  mud,"  he  an 
nounced  finally.  "You  refused  poor  old  Bill  and 
broke  his  heart,  and  so  he  went  away  and  hasn't 
had  the  courage  to  write  me  since.  I'm  afraid  Bill 
and  I  both  regarded  this  fight  as  practically  won — 
all  over  but  the  wedding-march,  as  one  might  put  it. 
I  might  as  well  confess  I  hustled  the  boy  down  from 
the  mine  just  so  you  two  could  get  married  and  light 
out  on  your  honeymoon  I  figured  Bill  could  kill  two 
birds  with  one  stone — have  his  honeymoon  and  get 
rid  of  his  malaria,  and  return  here  in  three  or  four 
months  to  relieve  me,  after  I  had  the  name  in  opera 
tion.  Poor  boy.  That  was  a  frightful  song-and- 
dance  you  gave  him." 

"I  suspected  you  were  the  matchmaker  in  this 
case.  I  must  say  I  think  you're  old  enough  to  know 
better,  Caliph  John." 

"You  did,  eh?     Well,  what  made  you  think  so?" 

She  chuckled.     "Oh,  you're  very  obvious — to  a 


woman." 


"I  forgot  that  you  reveal  the  past  and  foretell  the 
future." 


376  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"Yoti  are  really  very  clumsy,  Caliph.  You  should 
never  try  to  direct  the  destiny  of  any  woman." 

"I'm  on  the  sick  list,"  he  pleaded,  "and  it  isn't 
sporting  of  you  to  discuss  me.  You're  healthy — so 
let  us  discuss  you.  Dolores,  do  you  figure  Bill's 
case  to  be  absolutely  hopeless?" 

"Absolutely,  Caliph." 

"Hum-m-m!" 

Again  Webster  had  recourse  to  meditation,  seeing 
which,  Dolores  walked  to  the  pier-glass  in  the  corner, 
satisfied  herself  that  her  coiffure  was  just  so  and  re 
turned  to  his  side,  singing  softly  a  little  song  that  had 
floated  out  over  the  transom  of  Webster's  room  door 
into  the  hall  one  night : 

A  Spanish  cavalier, 
Went  out  to  rope  a  steer, 
Along  with  his  paper  cigar-r-ro  I 
"CaramfcaTsaidhe. 
"  Mariana  you  will  be 
Mucho  bueno  came  por  mio." 

He  turned  his  head  and  looked  up  at  her  sud 
denly,  searchingly.  "Is  there  anybody  else  in  Bill's 
way?"  he  demanded.  "I  admit  it's  none  of  my 
business,  but " 

"Yes,  Caliph,  there  is  some  one  else." 

"I  thought  so."  This  rather  viciously.  "I'm 
willing  to  gamble  a  hundred  to  one,  sight  unseen, 
that  whoever  he  is,  he  isn't  half  the  man  Bill  is." 

"That,"  she  replied  coldly,  "is  a  matter  of  personal 
opinion." 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  377 

l"  And  Bill's  clock  is  fixed  for  keeps?' 

"Yes,  Caliph.  And  he  never  had  a  chance  from 
the  start." 

"Why  not?" 

"Well,  I  met  the  other  man  first,  Caliph." 

"Oh!  Do  you  mind  telling  me  what  this  other 
man  does  for  a  living?" 

"He's  a  mining  man,  like  Billy." 

"All  right!  Has  the  son  of  a  horsethief  got  a  mine 
like  Bill's?  That's  something  to  consider,  Dolores." 

"He  has  a  mine  fully  as  good  as  Billy's.  Like 
Billy,  he  owns  a  half  interest  in  it,  too." 

"  Hum-m-m !    How  long  have  you  known  him  ? ' ' 

"Not  very  long." 

"Be  sure  you're  right — then  go  ahead,"  John 
Stuart  Webster  warned  her.  "Don't  marry  in  haste 
and  repent  at  leisure,  Dolores.  Know  your  man 
before  you  let  him  buy  the  wedding  ring.  There's 
a  heap  of  difference,  my  dear,  between  sentiment  and 
sentimentality." 
%"I'm  sure  of  my  man,  Caliph." 

He  was  silent  again,  thinking  rapidly.  "Well,  of 
course,"  he  began  again  presently,  "while  there  was 
the  slightest  possibility  of  Bill  winning  you,  I  would 
have  died  before  saying  that  which  I  am  about  to 
say  to  you  now,  Dolores,  because  Bill  is  my  friend, 
and  I'd  never  double-cross  him.  With  reference  to 
this  other  man,  however,  I  have  no  such  code  to 
consider.  I'm  pretty  well  convinced  I'm  out  of  the 
running,  but  I'll  give  that  lad  a  race  if  it's  the  last 
act  of  my  life.  He's  a  stranger  to  me,  and  he  isn't 


378  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

on  the  job  to  protect  his  claim,  so  why  shouldn't 
I  stake  it  if  I  can?  But  are  you  quite  certain  you 
aren't  making  a  grave  mistake  in  refusing  Billy? 
He's  quite  a  boy,  my  dear.  I  know  him  from  soul 
to  suspenders,  and  he'd  be  awfully  good  to  you.  He's 
kind  and  gentle  and  considerate,  and  he's  not  a  molly 
coddle,  either." 

"I  can't  help  it,  Caliph.  Please  don't  talk  about 
him  any  more.  I  know  somebody  who  is  kinder  and 
nobler  and  gentler."  She  ceased  abruptly,  fearful  of 
breaking  down  her  reserve  and  saying  too  much. 

"Well,  if  Bill's  case  is  hopeless" — his  hand  came 
groping  for  hers,  while  he  held  her  with  his  search 
ing,  wistful  glance — "I  wonder  what  mine  looks  like. 
That  is,  Dolores,  I—I ' 

"Yes,  John?" 

"I've  played  fair  with  my  friend,"  he  whispered 
eagerly.  "I'm  not  going  to  ask  you  to  marry  me, 
but  I  want  to  tell  you  that  to  me  you're  such  a  very 
wonderful  woman  I  can't  help  loving  you  with  my 
whole  heart  and  soul.' 

"I  have  suspected  this,  John,"  she  replied  gravely. 

"I  suppose  so.  I'm  such  an  obvious  old  fool. 
I've  had  my  dream,  and  I've  put  it  behind  me,  but  1 
— I  just  want  you  to  know  I  love  you;  so  long  as  I 
live,  I  shall  want  to  serve  you  When  you're  married 
to  this  other  man,  and  things  do  not  break  just 
right  for  you  both — if  I  have  something  he  wants,  in 
order  to  make  you  happy,  I  want  you  to  know  it's 
yours  to  give  to  him.  I — I — I  guess  that's  all, 
Dolores." 


WEBSTER—MAN'S  MAN  379 

"Thank  you,  John.  Would  you  like  to  know  this 
man  I'm  going  to  marry?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I'd  like  to  congratulate  the  scoun 
drel." 

"Then  I'll  introduce  you  to  him,  John.  I  first 
met  him  on  a  train  in  Death  Valley,  California.  He 
was  a  shaggy  old  dear,  all  whiskers  and  rags,  but  his 
whiskers  couldn't  hide  his  smile,  and  his  rags  couldn't 
hide  his  manhood,  and  when  he  thrashed  a  drummer 
because  the  man  annoyed  me,  I  just  couldn't  help 
falling  in  love  with  him.  Even  when  he  fibbed  to  me 
and  disputed  my  assertion  that  we  had  met  be 
fore " 

"Good  land  of  love — and  the  calves  get  loose!" 
he  almost  shouted  as  he  held  up  his  one  sound  arm 
to  her.  "  My  dear,  my  dear ' 

"Oh,  sweetheart,"  she  whispered  laying  her  hot 
cheek  against  his,  "it's  taken  you  so  long  to  say  it, 
but  I  love  you  all  the  more  for  the  dear  thoughts  that 
made  you  hesitate." 

He  was  silent  a  few  moments,  digesting  his  amaze 
ment,  speechless  with  the  great  happiness  that  was 
his — and  then  Dolores  was  kissing  the  back  of  the 
hand  of  that  helpless,  bandaged  arm  lying  across  his 
breast.  He  had  a  tightening  in  his  throat,  for  he 
had  not  expected  love;  and  that  sweet,  benignant, 
humble  little  kiss  spelled  adoration  and  eternal  sur 
render;  when  she  looked  at  him  again  the  mists  of 
joy  were  in  his  eyes. 

"Dear  old  Caliph  John!"  she  crooned.  "He's 
never  had  a  woman  to  understand  his  funny  ways 


380  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

and  appreciate  them  and  take  care  of  him,  has  he?" 
She  patted  his  cheek.  "And  bless  his  simple  old 
heart,  he  would  rather  give  up  his  love  than  be 
false  to  his  friend.  Yes,  indeed.  Johnny  Webster  re 
spects  'No  Shooting'  signs  when  he  sees  them,  but 
he  tells  fibs  and  pretends  to  be  very  stupid  when  he 
really  isn't.  So  you  wouldn't  be  false  to  Billy — eh, 
dear?  I'm  glad  to  know  that,  because  the  man  who 
cannot  be  false  to  his  friend  can  never  be  false  to  his 
wife."  /fat  /o*^**<ws>^^-fa^  0ZL4&P, 

He  crushed  her  down  to  him  and  held  her  there  for 
a  long  time.  "My  dear,"  he  said  presently,  "isn't 
there  something  you  have  to  say  to  me?" 

"I  love  you,  John,"  she  whispered,  and  sealed  the 
sweet  confession  with  a  true  lover's  kiss. 

"All's  well  with  the  world,"  John  Stuart  Webster 
announced  when  he  could  use  his  lips  once  more  for 
conversation.  "And,"  he  added,  "owing  to  the 
fact  that  I  started  a  trifle  late  in  life,  I  believe  I  could 
stand  a  little  more  of  the  same." 

The  door  opened  and  Ricardo  looked  in  on  them. 

"Killjoy!"  Webster  growled.  "Old  Killjoy  the 
Thirteenth,  King  of  Sobrante.  Is  this  a  surprise  to 
you?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  Jack.     I  knew  it  was  due." 

"Am  I  welcome  in  the  Ruey  family?" 

Ricardo  came  over  and  kissed  his  sister.  "Don't 
be  a  lobster,  Jack,"  he  protested.  "I  dislike  foolish 
questions."  And  he  pressed  his  friend's  hand  with  a 
fervour  that  testified  to  his  pleasure. 

"I'm  sorry  to  crowd  in  at  a  time  like  this,  Jack," 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  381 

he  continued,  with  a  hug  for  Dolores,  "but  Mr.  What- 
you-rnay-call-him,  the  American  consul,  has  called 
to  pay  his  respects.  As  a  fellow-citizen  of  yours,  he 
is  vitally  interested  in  your  welfare.  Would  you  care 
to  receive  him  for  a  few  minutes?" 

"One  minute  will  do,"  Webster  declared  with 
emphasis.  "Show  the  human  slug  up,  Rick." 

Mr.  Lemuel  Tolliver  tripped  breezily  in  with  out 
stretched  hand.  "  My  dear  Mr.  Webster,"  he  began, 
but  Webster  cut  him  short  with  a  peremptory  ges 
ture. 

"Listen,  friend  Tolliver,"  he  said.  "The  only 
reason  I  received  you  was  to  tell  you  I'm  going  to 
remain  in  this  country  awhile  and  help  develop  it. 
I  may  even  conclude  to  grow  up  with  it.  I  shall  not, 
of  course,  renounce  my  American  citizenship;  and  of 
course,  as  an  American  citizen,  I  am  naturally  in 
terested  in  the  man  my  country  sends  to  Sobrante  to 
represent  it.  I  might  as  well  be  frank  and  tell  you 
that  you  won't  do.  I  called  on  you  once  to  do  your 
duty,  and  you  weren't  there;  I  told  you  then  I  might 
have  something  to  say  about  your  job  later  on,  and 
now  I'm  due  to  say  it.  Mr.  Tolliver,  I'm  the  power 
behind  the  throne  in  this  little  Jim-crow  country, 
and  to  quote  your  own  elegant  phraseology,  you,  as 
American  consul,  are  nux  vomica  to  the  Sobrantean 
government.  Moreover,  as  soon  as  the  Sobrantean 
ambassador  reaches  Washington,  he's  going  to  tell 
the  President  that  you  are,  and  then  the  President 
will  be  courteous  enough  to  remove  you.  In  the 
meantime,  fare  thee  well,  Mr.  Consul." 


382  WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN 

"But,  Mr.  Webster " 

"Fat/a/" 

Mr.  Tolliver,  appreciating  the  utter  futility  of 
argument,  bowed  and  departed. 

"Verily,  life  grows  sweeter  with  each  passing  day/' 
Webster  murmured  whimsically.  "Rick,  old  man, 
I  think  you  had  better  escort  the  Consul  to  the  front 
door.  Your  presence  is  nux  vomica  to  me  also.  See 
that  you  back  me  up  and  dispose  of  that  fellow 
Tolliver,  or  you  can't  come  to  our  wedding — can  he, 
sweetheart?" 

When  Ricardo  had  taken  his  departure,  laughing, 
John  Stuart  Webster  looked  up  quite  seriously  at  his 
wife-to-be.  "Can  you  explain  to  me,  Dolores," 
he  asked,  "how  it  happened  that  your  relatives  and 
your  father's  old  friends  here  in  Sobrante,  whom  you 
met  shortly  after  your  arrival,  never  informed  you 
that  Ricardo  was  living?" 

"They  didn't  know  any  more  about  him  than  I 
did,  and  he  left  here  as  a  mere  boy.  He  was  scarcely 
acquainted  with  his  relatives,  all  of  whom  bowed 
quite  submissively  to  the  Sarros  yoke.  Indeed,  my 
father's  half-brother,  Antonio  Ruey,  actually  ac 
cepted  a  portfolio  under  the  Sarros  regime  and  held 
it  up  to  his  death.  Ricardo  has  a  wholesome  con 
tempt  for  his  relatives,  and  as  for  his  father's  old 
friends,  none  of  them  knew  anything  about  his  plans. 
Apparently  his  identity  was  known  only  to  the  Sarros 
intelligence  bureau,  and  it  did  not  permit  the  informa 
tion  to  leak  out." 

"Funny  mix-up,"  he  commented.     "And  by  the 


WEBSTER— MAN'S  MAN  383 

way,  where  did  you  get  all  the  inside  dope  about 
Neddy  Jerome?" 

She  laughed  and  related  to  him  the  details  of 
Neddy's  perfidy. 

"And  you  actually  agreed  to  deliver  me,  hog- tied 
and  helpless j  to  that  old  schemer,  Dolores?" 

"Why  not,  dear.  I  loved  you;  I  always  meant  to 
marry  you,  if  you'd  let  me;  and  ten  thousand  dollars 
would  have  lasted  me  for  pin  money  a  long  time." 

"Well,  you  and  Neddy  have  both  lost  out.  Better 
send  the  old  pelican  a  cable  and  wake  him  out  of  his 
day-dream." 

"I  sent  the  cable  yesterday,  John  dear." 

*  *  Extraordinary  woman ! ' ' 

"I've  just  received  an  answer.  Neddy  has  spent 
nearly  fifty  dollars  telling  me  by  cable  what  a  fine 
man  you  are  and  how  thankful  I  ought  to  be  to  the 
good  Lord  for  permitting  you  to  marry  me." 

"Dolores,  you  are  perfectly  amazing.  I  only  pro 
posed  to  you  a  minute  ago." 

"I  know  you  did,  slow-poke,  but  that  is  not  your 
fault.  You  would  have  proposed  to  me  yesterday, 
only  I  thought  best  not  to  disturb  you  until  you  were 
a  little  stronger.  This  evening,  however,  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  settle  the  matter,  and  so  I " 

"But  suppose  I  hadn't  proposed  to  you,  after 
all?" 

"Then,  John,  I  should  have  proposed  to  you,  I 
fear."  , 

"But  you  were  running  an  awful  risk,  sending  that 
telegram  to  Neddy  Jerome." 


384  WEBSTER—MAN'S  MAN 

She  t*  jk  one  large  red  ear  in  each  little  hand  and 
shook  his  head  lovingly.  "Silly,"  she  whispered, 
"don't  be  a  goose.  I  knew  you  loved  me;  I  would 
have  know  it,  even  if  Neddy  Jerome  hadn't  told  me 
so.  So  I  played  a  safe  game  all  the  way  through,  and 
oh,  dear  Caliph  John,  I'm  so  happy  I  could  cry." 

"God  bless  my  mildewed  soul,"  John  Stuart  Web 
ster  murmured  helplessly.  The  entire  matter  was 
quite  beyond  his  comprehension! 


THE   END 


:IVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 
Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed, 
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